


Do You Mean to Break My Heart?

by menel



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Family Bonding, First Time, Gay Bar, Imprisonment, M/M, Medical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: Still picking up the pieces after the loss of Professor Xavier and Jean Grey, Logan comes across the most unexpected piece of evidence that the X-Men’s former field leader may still be alive. Despite the skepticism of his teammates, Logan follows the evidence to Alaska, but when he arrives there, nothing is what it seems.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from Jolie Holland’s stunning song, “Saint Dymphna.”

When Logan first saw the photograph in the glossy pages of an automotive magazine, he’d stared hard at the image as if by doing so it would somehow be able to explain the inexplicable. The accompanying article had been a feature on the ten best automotive shops specializing in the restoration of classic vehicles in North America. Logan had been skimming the article somewhat listlessly until shop number four had caught his eye. It was located in a town in Alaska and was one of two newcomers to the list. While the other shops were well established, Dayspring Repair and Restoration had risen to prominence within the past two years. 

The timeline fit, Logan thought, gazing at the mirror image of the former field leader of the X-Men, whom the article identified as Slym Dayspring, the proprietor of Dayspring Repair and Restoration. Slym. It may have been spelled differently but it was pronounced the same way – one of a handful of nicknames that Logan had adopted for the field leader. And tinkering with motorcycles and restoring vehicles had been one of Scott’s favorite pastimes as well. Logan remembered how often he would find Scott in the underground hangar of the mansion tending to his precious Blackbird. Scott’s mechanical and technical ability was one of the things Logan had always admired about the other man, though he’d neglected to tell Scott that. There were a lot things that he’d neglected to tell Scott, always believing that it hadn’t been the right time, that Scott wouldn’t want to hear those things anyway, that he wouldn’t even know what to say. Until one day, Logan had run out of time. 

But maybe not. Maybe there was still time. Logan looked again at the magazine in his hands. Slym Dayspring wasn’t even looking at the camera, but he was wearing a pair of sunglasses – not the familiar ruby quartz, but a pair of aviator shades – and the smile on his face was so genuine and carefree that it made Logan’s heart ache. How often had he seen Scott smile like that? Not enough was the answer. 

After the team meeting that afternoon, when the younger members of the latest incarnation of the X-Men had left, Logan showed the photograph and the article to Ororo Munroe, who’d taken over the running of the school and the X-Men since the losses of Xavier, Jean and Scott. Hank had been present as well. Together, he and Storm were the remaining members of Xavier’s first batch of students, the original five as they were called. (Technically, Angel was part of that group too, but Logan had a habit of disregarding him.)

“Well, whaddya think?” Logan asked, as Storm studied the photograph and the accompanying write-up. 

She glanced at him, noticing the expectant tone in Logan’s voice and passed the magazine to Hank. “It’s a remarkable likeness,” she said. 

“That’s it?” Logan’s disbelief was palpable. 

Storm and Hank exchanged looks. 

“What else is there to say?” Storm asked, so gently that it made Logan’s hackles rise.

“It’s more than just a remarkable likeness,” Logan replied accusingly. “The guy’s name is _Slym_. He even shares the same interests as Scott. What do you think Fearless Leader would be doing if he wasn’t running a school or training the X-Men, if he was just an ordinary civilian?” 

Storm opened her mouth to say something but shut it just as quickly, instead looking to Hank for support. But Hank was busy reading the article and when he finally spoke, he surprised them both. 

“Why not?” he questioned, closing the magazine. 

“Why not?” Storm repeated, perplexed. 

“Why not go see if it’s him?” Hank clarified. “What harm could that do?”

Storm shot Hank an exasperated look before she sighed heavily. “I understand the need to hold onto hope,” she began. “But this could be more disruptive than it could be productive.” She fixed Logan with a stern look. “It’s taken us nearly two years to pick up the pieces since we lost the Professor, Jean and Scott. We’ve finally reached some semblance of stability. The students have made peace with the past and so has the team. This,” she said, gesturing to the magazine in Hank’s hand. “This will only reopen old wounds.” 

Logan couldn’t believe Storm’s response. He’d thought he might have to cajole her into letting him take some time off from his classes, but he’d never considered the possibility that she’d outright refuse the request, one that he technically hadn’t made yet. 

“We don’t know for certain that he’s dead,” Logan stated, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. It was one thing to secretly hold onto that thought, it was quite another to say it out loud. In front of an audience. He did sound a little…unhinged. But Logan was never one to let a little craziness stop him. 

“None of us ever saw him die,” he persevered. “And Jean never admitted to killing him. We don’t know for certain what happened at Alkali Lake.”

Storm and Hank exchanged looks again and there was no mistaking the skepticism between them. Logan wondered if he’d lost Hank’s support thanks to his impassioned plea. 

“Jean,” Storm began again, her voice maddeningly placating. “She wasn’t herself at that time. She wasn’t in control of her actions.” Storm paused. “You and I,” she reminded Logan. “We were the ones who went to Alkali Lake. You were the one who found Scott’s glasses. We may not have witnessed what happened there, but we both know that something terrible did.”

Logan was not dissuaded. There was nothing Ororo could actually do to prevent him from leaving, even if she disapproved of his actions. Well, she could kick him off the team, but if that was the price for Logan’s peace of mind, then he would pay it. The school wasn’t the same without the Boy Scout. Summers had been Xavier’s true heir, the Professor’s surrogate son. Nothing was as it should be without him. Imagine if Logan could somehow bring Scott back… 

“Logan should go,” Hank was saying, startling Logan out of his thoughts. “It will just be a quick trip. Sort of like a reconnaissance mission. I can cover his classes. Aside from the three of us, I don’t see why the details of Logan’s trip need to go beyond this room.” Hank looked from Logan to Ororo to get their input. 

Ororo still looked skeptical. “You’ll teach Logan’s survivalist courses?” she asked, a little doubtfully.

Hank coughed. “I was thinking more Logan’s history classes,” he admitted. Then he squared his broad shoulders. “Are you suggesting Ororo,” he asked. “That I can’t teach a survivalist course?” He leveled her with a long look, making his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. 

Ororo smiled in return. “Of course not,” she replied, lightening up. “I just didn’t think they’d be your favorite subject.”

“Kurt can handle the survivalist courses,” Logan interrupted. He gave Beast an apologetic look. “No offense, Hank,” he added. 

“None taken,” Hank said magnanimously. “Ororo is correct. I’d prefer to teach a science class to a survivalist course.” He paused. “So, it’s settled then?” he questioned. "Logan will leave for Alaska on his reconnaissance mission, and then check in in a day or two?” 

Logan couldn’t help but grin at Hank’s cleverness. Somehow, Blue had managed to flip Storm’s potential refusal and turn Logan’s unspoken request into a legitimate mission for the X-Men. Judging by the look on Ororo’s face, she also understood what had just happened.

“Fine,” Ororo agreed with a resigned sigh. “But you’re flying coach,” she informed Logan. “We need the Blackbird here for _actual_ missions. And for pity’s sake Logan, keep your distance from this man if this just proves to be a wild goose chase.” Her tone indicated that’s what she believed the whole thing to be. “There’s no need to disrupt Slym Dayspring’s life.”

Logan gave her a quick two-fingered salute and a wide grin. “You’re the boss,” he told her. 

As the three of them left the meeting room, Ororo going down the hallway in the opposite direction, Hank fell into step beside Logan. 

“Thanks for backing me up in there,” Logan said. “That was…unexpected.” 

“It was for your peace of mind,” Hank replied.

They walked a few paces in silence before Hank stopped Logan with a hand on the other man’s arm. Logan took the hint and turned to face his teammate.

“Ororo is probably right about this too,” Hank said gently. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up. The chances of Scott being alive are…” 

Yeah, Logan knew what the chances were. But there was still a _chance_.

“Ororo is afraid of opening old wounds,” Hank went on. “But for you that wound never really closed. It’s time you made your peace with him, however you may find it. You cared for Scott far more than anyone – aside from Charles – would’ve guessed.” 

Logan’s expression was rueful. “Yeah?” he said. “And how would you know that Blue?” 

Hank dropped his hand from Logan’s arm and gave the other man a far too knowing look. “I could always smell it on you,” he replied. “On both of you,” he added. “But especially on you.”

Logan was still standing there in shock when Hank continued on his way. It took him over a minute to realize what Hank had said. _On_ both _of you_. 

That was new. 

And interesting. 

Instead of deflating Logan, he left the sublevels of the mansion with a lighter step.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sitka is a real town in Alaska, but its representation in this story is purely fictional.

Sitka, Alaska. Getting there was an adventure in itself since the town could only be accessed by air or by sea. Logan took the second option for obvious reasons. Hank had revealed to him another interesting detail before he’d left Westchester, namely, that Scott’s family was originally from Anchorage. While Sitka wasn’t Anchorage, it wasn’t that far either. Hell, at least it was the same state. 

Sitka was a popular tourist destination and Logan could immediately see why. The town was charming and picturesque, with everything practically within walking distance. That fact alone gave Logan a good idea of what sort of clientele Slym Dayspring was dealing with since cars weren’t terribly popular on the island. If people were going to Mr. Dayspring to have their vehicles restored or repaired, then in all likelihood those cars were being flown in. Although the article Logan had read had focused on the automotive aspect of Dayspring Repair and Restoration, it was a good bet that Mr. Dayspring repaired and restored other things as well. At the back of Logan’s mind, he could still see Scott tinkering with the Blackbird. 

Logan’s queries were soon answered since the first thing he did was head over to Dayspring Repair and Restoration. The garage was much bigger than he’d imagined and located on the outskirts of the town. From what he could tell, the second floor looked to be an apartment. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if Dayspring lived where he worked. That seemed just like the kind of thing Scott would do, too. 

Logan canvassed the repair shop from a safe distance. He wasn’t prepared yet to walk inside, look around and ask for Mr. Dayspring, even though his instincts told him to do just that. He thought Cyclops would’ve been proud that he was showing restraint, a concept that the field leader had often told him that he needed to work on. For all his eagerness to get to Alaska, Logan hadn’t actually thought of a plan to execute once he’d arrived. Planning and strategy had been Cyclops’s department, and once Logan had allowed himself to follow the field leader’s orders, he’d found it surprisingly easy to do so. He’d trusted Scott and in time he knew that trust had been repaid.

Instead of barging into Dayspring Repair and Restoration without any kind of cover story, Logan settled for the diner across the street. Just like everything else so far in Sitka, the diner was picture perfect, spotless and designed in a retro 60s style. Logan chose a corner booth, one that gave him the best vantage point both inside and outside of the diner. The waitress had just finished pouring his cup of coffee when perhaps the one thing that Logan hadn’t been prepared for, happened. Slym Dayspring entered the diner. Logan was just about to drink his coffee, the cup poised midway between the table and his mouth, when he froze. 

Slym Dayspring was Scott Summers incarnate: the same height, the same features, the same sense of style (not that Logan would ever admit to paying attention to Summers’ wardrobe). But two things were distinctly different. The first were his eyes, which even from a distance Logan could tell were a clear, piercing blue, the kind of blue that a bad romance novel would describe as ‘cerulean orbs.’ Now, Logan had never actually seen Scott’s eyes for obvious reasons, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been blue. Eyes like that were a different kind of weapon. The second thing – and the far more disheartening detail – was that Slym Dayspring’s scent was different. It wasn’t the scent that Logan remembered – had practically imprinted – the scent that came to him at night in his dreams. (He dreamed a lot about Scott, waking up hollow and with a sour aftertaste in his mouth. These dreams weren’t like the nightmares of his past. In some way, he preferred those terrors. Dreaming about Scott was always about what could have been. Whenever he woke up drenched in sweat, he knew that was the scent of regret.)

Logan’s hyper-senses never failed him and he quickly looked down to gather his composure, putting the cup of coffee back in its saucer. This wasn’t Scott. He didn’t have to meet Slym Dayspring to know that. The disappointment was crushing. Despite the incredible odds, he’d still believed right until that very moment that _somehow_ Slym Dayspring and Scott Summers would be the same person, that Scott was still alive, that through sheer force of will he could make that be so.

Dayspring was walking towards him. Logan could hear the other man’s steps, could smell his scent grow stronger. Dayspring stopped two booths away. Dimly, he listened as the waitress approached Dayspring’s booth and poured some coffee. He heard their banter. The waitress was flirting and Dayspring was obviously a regular (unsurprising, given that the garage was across the street). Dayspring easily deflected the waitress’s innuendo (he was polite but firm – another Scott-like trait) and placed his order. 

It was at that point that Logan realized he’d had enough. The trip was a bust. There was no reason to stay and torture himself. He pulled out his wallet and left a few bills to pay for the coffee. He hadn’t ordered yet. He stood up and walked by Dayspring’s booth, careful not to look at the other man as he passed him.

Logan dropped by a liquor store on his way back into town and bought a bottle of whisky. He’d packed light; the small duffel he was carrying was his only luggage. He didn’t expect to be in town for more than a few days, but now he thought he shouldn’t have bothered packing at all. It looked like this trip was going to be an overnighter. He checked into the nearest motel, threw himself onto the bed and poured himself the first of many glasses for the night.

* * * * *

There were two things Logan’s healing factor couldn’t do that he’d always found both irritating and puzzling. One was that his healing factor did absolutely nothing to prevent hangovers. Given how much Logan enjoyed drinking, this was particularly annoying. Admittedly, said healing factor had regrown his liver over a thousand times so that was probably par for the course. The other thing…

Logan swung his legs over the side of the motel bed, his head pounding. Aspirin. He needed aspirin, which he didn’t have. He settled for the next best thing – a cold shower. Despite telling himself that he’d head straight for the airport (the fastest way out of Sitka was to fly), Logan found himself back at the same diner across from Dayspring Repair and Restoration. Thankfully, Dayspring wasn’t there having breakfast. He could’ve been there earlier, Logan reasoned. It was late morning. Almost noon, in fact. If he were serious about leaving that day, he’d have to take an afternoon flight back to the mainland.

Logan contemplated this as he drank his coffee. The bitterness of the black coffee was helping to clear the fog from his mind. He should leave today. There was nothing else to do in Sitka. That was the plan. And yet, Logan couldn’t bring himself to budge from his spot. Long after he’d finished his brunch and was probably on his sixth cup of coffee, he was still sitting in the same booth. By late afternoon, he felt the pressure to order again (and he was getting hungry). The waitress was starting to glare daggers at him, but Logan couldn’t understand why she should be so upset. He was a paying customer and it’s not like the diner was flooded with many other patrons. It was quiet and out of the way, and Logan wasn’t disrupting the peace (for a change). Maybe it was his presence. He was looking a little rough around the edges and that was incongruous with the wholesome atmosphere of the place. He was just digging into his bacon waffle when the door to the diner opened. A scent that Logan had encountered before drifted over to him. He looked up before he could stop himself. 

It was déjà vu. Slym Dayspring entered the diner once more, but this time Logan wasn’t overwhelmed by the sight or smell of him. Dayspring waved to the waitress who had been flirting with him the day before (the same one that seemed to have a grudge against Logan; Sarah was her name) and then sidled into the same booth as well. It was a routine, Logan realized, glancing down at his watch to mark the time. The garage must’ve just closed and Dayspring chose to unwind here at the end of the day.

Without really considering it, Logan knew that he’d made up his mind. This trip was a bust and this man was not Scott, but Logan found him intriguing nonetheless. He would stay in Sitka for a few days and follow through on his surveillance mission. There was nothing preventing him from doing so. He pulled out his phone. Hank’s messages from the night before and earlier that morning had gone unanswered, but so far Blue hadn’t called him. Good ‘ole McCoy was showing the right amount of concern, but also giving him the right amount of space. He opened a new message and typed, “Staying in Sitka for a few days.” The reply was immediate. “Understood. Take whatever time you need. We’ll contact you if we need you.”

Logan read the message with a wry grin and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. Hank’s words on the afternoon that he’d pitched this trip to Ororo still resonated with him. _It’s time you made your peace with him, however you may find it._ Hank understood better than Logan had what this trip was really about. Logan would see this through.

To call what Logan did for the next four days ‘surveillance’ was one thing, but in reality, he felt more like a stalker. He became familiar with Slym Dayspring’s routine. He’d been right about the apartment above the garage. Just like he’d been right about the diner being one of Dayspring’s regular haunts. Logan stopped going to the diner himself. Surveillance required distance and eating at the same place as his mark was a quick way to get noticed. Dayspring lived a pretty ordinary life and he seemed happy. Logan was happy for him. It was the sort of life that Scott could never have led, the kind of life that Logan could never have either. He’d come to think of Dayspring as Scott’s alternate universe counterpart. (Hank firmly believed in the multiple universe theory, even though Logan had yet to see any first-hand evidence for himself.)

So, Logan trailed Slym Dayspring for four days. He watched Dayspring work on the cars and other vehicles that came through the garage. He saw him meet with clients. He followed him to a private airfield where clients flew in their vehicles and Dayspring had a long conversation with one of the pilots, perhaps even the owner of the airfield (she seemed to be running things), an attractive woman roughly the same age as Dayspring. Logan was clued in pretty quickly that Dayspring and the woman were close when they had coffee later that afternoon and then dinner the following evening. He had to suffer through their date and watch as Dayspring brought her back to his place afterwards. She left in the morning, making Logan wonder if she was Dayspring’s girlfriend. He didn’t think so. Something about their interaction told him that what they had was casual. (He ignored the petty side of him that wanted that to be true. He preferred the idea of Dayspring being single, of potentially still being available.)

He’d decided that he would indulge in his stalker-ish behavior for a week before heading back to Westchester. Anything beyond that would be unreasonable, and it was somewhat surprising that Ororo hadn’t called him back to the school already. He suspected that was Hank’s doing. Blue was a loyal and a good friend. Logan would have to think of some way to repay him, preferably without teaching Hank’s math classes for a week. Math was not his strong suit. Math, of course, had been one of Scott’s greatest assets. His ability to refract and manipulate his beam over surfaces and angles had revealed a mind that could quickly do the proper calculations, in combat scenarios, no less. Logan sighed, his hands on the steering wheel of his rental. Everything led back to Summers. Was this the proper way to say good-bye to the most complicated (non-)relationship he’d ever had?

It was the evening of the fifth day of his surveillance. Dayspring had broken from his routine, leaving his apartment late in the evening. Logan was parked outside an area of the town that he’d never been to before. It was quiet, just like most of Sitka at that hour. He watched with curiosity as Dayspring went to the corner of the street, entering the only establishment that was open. Logan couldn’t tell what it was. It was fairly nondescript and there was no signage above the door. Perhaps it was a bar of some kind. What else would be open at that hour? It pleased Logan to think that Dayspring would kick back from time to time and have a drink. It was chilly inside the pick-up and Logan decided to break protocol and follow Dayspring inside. He could use a drink himself. He’d just have to find somewhere secluded and stay out of sight. Ororo’s warning not to disrupt Dayspring’s life came to the fore, but he brushed it aside. What harm could one drink do?

When Logan entered the establishment a few minutes after Dayspring, he knew _exactly_ what kind of place it was, not because of the all-male gaze that immediately zeroed in on him as a newcomer, but because of the scent. The place smelled of sex and seduction, mixed with aftershave and cologne and the tang of male sweat. Gay bars in Alaska. He knew they had to exist, but it had never occurred to him that he might find Slym Dayspring in one of them. This was easily going to be the most interesting night of his ‘surveillance.’

He located Dayspring effortlessly. The other man was casually leaning against the bar counter, making no secret of the fact that he was checking Logan out. (Logan felt like _everyone_ was checking him out.) There was an invitation in the other man’s smile that Logan had already accepted before his brain could catch up to his actions. He wondered if Dayspring remembered him from the diner. Their first encounter had been too brief, but the following day Logan had had to finish his waffle while Dayspring had waited for his order. He thought the chances of Dayspring noticing him at the diner were slim, at best. He smiled inwardly at his own bad pun.

Logan strode to the bar, right up to the vacant space beside Dayspring. The other man was already facing him, his body angled towards Logan. Even in the dimmer lighting and the haze of the smoke, Dayspring’s eyes were a piercing blue. Coupled with that warm smile, Logan knew he’d been completely disarmed without Dayspring even saying a word. He was in deep shit. 

“We don’t get many newcomers around here,” Dayspring said in lieu of an introduction. 

“I can tell,” Logan replied, mirroring Dayspring’s stance as he leaned against the bar. “Felt a little violated back there.”

Dayspring laughed good-naturedly and Logan fell that little bit harder. This was the closest he’d ever been to the other man and Dayspring’s resemblance to Scott was bordering on painful. He _sounded_ like Summers too. Even the laugh was familiar, although Scott hadn’t laughed enough in Logan’s opinion.

“Sorry,” Dayspring said, sounding anything but. He was still smiling, his body language open and inviting. He leaned in a little conspiratorially. “Half the bar must’ve undressed you with their eyes,” he said. “Myself included.” 

Logan didn’t let it show, but he was completely taken aback. Summers would’ve never spoken to him so brazenly, would never have hit on him if he were the last person on earth. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” Logan asked, for lack of anything else to say. 

Dayspring was still leaning towards him. “You could,” he agreed, his smile slicing a little sharper. “Or you could just fuck me.”

Logan’s brain short-circuited. Of all the possible first-meeting scenarios that he’d run through his head, _this_ hadn’t even been within the frame of possibility. He took so long to recover from his shock that Dayspring interpreted his silence as refusal. The other man began to withdraw, his smile transforming into one of ruefulness. 

“Sorry,” Dayspring said again, this time sounding like he meant it. “Thought you were interested.” 

Logan reached out and placed a hand on Dayspring’s forearm to stop him from pulling away. “I am,” he said, finally finding his voice. “Interested,” he added.

The warm, inviting smile was back, together with a twinkle in those baby blues that spoke of mischievousness and satisfaction. Logan felt like he’d stepped into The Twilight Zone or maybe one of Hank’s alternate universes. Nothing could possibly be more surreal than what was happening.

The bartender arrived and placed a shot in front of Dayspring. It must’ve been the drink Dayspring had ordered before Logan had entered the bar. Logan could’ve used a stiff drink himself and it must’ve showed on his face because Dayspring motioned to the shot, offering it to Logan. Logan wasn’t about to refuse. He could feel Dayspring’s thoughtful gaze on him as he picked up the glass and downed the amber liquid in one go. Dayspring didn’t speak when Logan placed the glass back on the counter. He stepped away from the bar, his body language indicating that Logan should follow. Logan did so, his mind still racing with the comparisons to Scott. He and Cyclops had rarely needed to speak in the field as well, relying on gesture and action to communicate. Yet he’d never been able to communicate his _desire_ to Summers, and Summers had never given any indication that those advances would’ve been welcome. 

Slym Dayspring was not Scott Summers, but he was as close as Logan was ever going to get to his former field leader.

Dayspring lead them to the second floor. Logan had only been to a handful of gay bars in his long life, but he could tell that Dayspring was a regular. This was confirmed when the attendant on the second floor, sitting behind a counter that marked the entrance to the private rooms, simply placed a key on the counter as Dayspring approached and then waved them straight through. The hallway they entered was narrow and even more poorly lit than the bar. The rooms on either side were not soundproofed, but Logan wouldn’t have needed his hyper-senses to hear what was happening behind those closed doors. Some of the patrons were very vocal. Some liked their toys. Logan was growing hard just following Dayspring down the hallway, thinking of what was to come.

The room Dayspring opened was on the right side. It was small, not even large enough to fit a double bed, and it was shaped like a shoebox. There were bathrooms back in Westchester that were larger, but it did have the necessities. Along the length of one wall was a chaise longue with a vinyl cover (easier to clean) and beside it on the adjacent wall was a shelf with supplies – condoms, lube, plugs, and various other toys. The floor was also clean, so that was something.

Logan had just finished inspecting the room when Dayspring locked the door and went to where he was standing in the center. Dayspring’s hands were already on him, quick fingers unbuckling his belt. Logan grabbed the other man’s wrists to still his actions. Dayspring glanced up, a quizzical expression on his face. 

“I like to kiss people before I fuck them,” Logan told the other man. “That okay?”

Dayspring’s response was to lean forward and press his lips against Logan’s. The action ignited something in him and Logan kissed back fiercely, his hands traveling up the other man’s body until he was gripping Dayspring around the neck, so tightly that it was bordering on asphyxiation. The kiss was like drowning, like a damn breaking. Logan hadn’t meant to react so violently, but any concern he had of frightening the other man away was dispelled when they broke for air and he saw the glint in Dayspring’s eyes. So, his partner liked it rough. That’s probably why Dayspring had chosen him for the night. 

“I like to blow people before they fuck me,” Dayspring said, his hands resting on Logan’s hips. “That okay?”

No way was Logan going to object to that. Dayspring didn’t even wait for an answer, dropping to his knees and finishing what he started with Logan’s belt. Then Logan’s jeans were around his ankles, soon joined by his boxers. Dayspring had spit into his palm, using his right hand to coax Logan to full hardness. Then there was heat and wetness; Dayspring’s mouth suckling his tip while his hands worked Logan’s length. More heat and more wetness as Dayspring took more of Logan inside. The urge to fuck Dayspring’s mouth was strong, but somehow Logan managed to refrain, one hand gripping the other man’s hair, both as a warning and as encouragement. Dayspring brought him right to the edge and just as Logan was about to pull him off (he didn’t want to come so soon), Dayspring released him. Logan dragged the other man back up for another kiss; full, wet and more languorous than the first one they’d shared.

Logan thought it hardly mattered at that point. He was more focused on touching bare skin. Dayspring was still completely clothed. He quickly divested the other man of his belt and his slacks. He wasn’t surprised to discover that Dayspring wore briefs instead of boxers. (Scott had preferred briefs too. You noticed those details when you shared a locker room.) Then he helped Dayspring pull his sweater over his head (red and gray cashmere, what were the chances?). He briefly contemplated using his claws to simply rip the buttons off the white Oxford underneath, but wisely decided against it. Adamantium claws were a bit much for a first fuck, even for someone who liked it rough. Instead, Logan stepped out of his own jeans before he tripped on them, and then slipped off his boots and socks while Dayspring unbuttoned his shirt.

When they were both naked, Logan reached for Dayspring and kissed him again, walking the other man backwards until Dayspring was against the wall. Dayspring was a good kisser, just like he was a good cocksucker, using both lips and tongue to coax and tease. He broke the kiss to let out a surprised gasp when Logan’s hand curled around his cock, the action causing him to shift his hips to get more of Logan’s heat. Logan stroked him lazily, lips grazing the side of the other man’s neck.

“Turn around,” Logan eventually ordered. “Legs spread. Hands braced against the wall.” 

Logan could feel rather than see Dayspring’s smile. It came through in a change in the other man’s scent, almost like a spike in anticipation of what was to come. Dayspring complied, pushing Logan off of him so that he could face the wall. Logan ran one hand down the other man’s back, even as he reached for the lube on the shelf beside them. In better lighting and in a more rational state of mind, he would’ve catalogued that expanse of back. He would’ve catalogued Dayspring’s entire body, checking it for scars or signs of familiarity. A part of him still couldn’t accept…

He squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers. Dayspring’s breathing was even beneath his hand. Dayspring didn’t flinch when Logan’s fingers entered his body, scissoring and stretching the tight passage. He accommodated the girth (Logan had been impatient and put three fingers in straight away), widening his stance to give Logan even better access. He pushed back on those invading fingers until a tremble in his right leg told Logan that he’d found the right spot. Logan remembered the position, curling his fingers so that he brushed against the bundle of nerves. He was rewarded with a low moan from the other man. He leaned over Dayspring, breathing in the other man’s scent that was becoming more familiar to him, more intoxicating. Dayspring turned his head and their lips met in a kiss as Logan continued to work him open. 

“You can bareback me if you want,” Dayspring said, when the kiss ended. “I’m clean.” 

“That’s not very safe,” Logan told him.

Dayspring gave a low chuckle. “People don’t go to places like this to play it safe,” he replied. That glint was back in his eye. “You didn’t know what this place was when you walked in here.”

“No,” Logan admitted. “But I generally don’t play it safe either.” 

“I could tell,” Dayspring said, the smile back in his voice. 

_The kid was good_ , Logan thought. Confident. Knew what he wanted. Knew how to go about getting it. Logan figured the outcome tonight would’ve been the same for Dayspring even if he hadn’t walked through that door.

Despite his words, Logan reached for one of the condoms on the shelf, tearing off the wrapper and rolling it on. He squeezed more lube onto his hands and slicked himself up. When he was done, he placed his left hand at the juncture of Dayspring’s left shoulder and neck, his grip almost tight enough to bruise. 

“Ready?” he asked, using his right hand to guide himself to Dayspring’s entrance. 

“Been waiting on you,” the other man snarked back.

Logan took that to be permission and he pushed inside. He felt the involuntary clenching of Dayspring’s body as the head of cock breached the other man, but the prep work ensured that the rest of the slide was smooth. They exhaled as one when Logan was balls deep. 

Logan curled an arm around Dayspring’s waist, flushing the other man against him. “Keep your hands on the wall,” he instructed. “You don’t touch yourself. That’s my job.”

Dayspring nodded once to show that he understood, and then Logan began to move. His thrusts were shallow at first, but it wasn’t long before he put more force behind them, shifting his angle so that he hit that particular spot. Dayspring’s moans and gasps were fueling his own desire. The other man was so responsive to his touch that it made him wonder if he could get Dayspring to come on his cock alone. It was a wicked thought, but Logan put it aside. The hand on Dayspring’s shoulder moved downwards until Logan had wrapped both his arms around that slim waist. By now, the force of his thrusts was pushing Dayspring further into the wall. The other man could no longer support himself with his hands, but was bracing himself on his forearms, his forehead resting on his arms as he took Logan’s pounding. When Logan knew that he was close, he gripped the base of Dayspring’s cock with his right hand and began to pump. The hardened flesh felt like it was about to explode in his hand. A few more thrusts and they were both going to go over the edge. He felt Dayspring clench around him as his hand was coated with the other man’s seed. The rippling effect of the other man’s orgasm carried over to him and Logan spilled himself deep inside Dayspring’s body. 

Afterwards, Logan lazed on the chaise longue as he watched Dayspring get dressed. He was still butt naked, but had bothered to pull out a cigar from the inner pocket of his discarded jacket. He flipped on his lighter, half expecting Dayspring to reprimand him for smoking. When no reprimand came, its absence further highlighted that Dayspring was _not_ Scott Summers.

“Any rules against smoking here?” Logan asked, burying the sense of disappointment that was threatening to ruin his post-coital haze. 

“None,” Dayspring answered. “As long as you don’t burn the place down.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Logan suddenly said, referring to more than the fact that they hadn’t exchanged names. 

The other man was putting on his sweater. He glanced back at Logan when he was fully dressed, looking as put together as when he first entered the bar. Scott had always looked put-together too. Logan didn’t miss the way Dayspring’s eyes roved over his body appreciatively. He wasn’t the type to preen and he could never be described as vain, but his ego was boosted by the once-over. 

“That’s the way these things work,” Dayspring replied. He headed for the door. Just before he turned the knob, he looked back at Logan one more time. “See you around,” he added. “Maybe.” 

Logan’s eyes drifted shut. He knew he’d have to leave the room soon, but he was much too sated to do so at the moment. “Maybe,” he agreed, but Dayspring was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was Saturday. By now, Logan knew that Dayspring’s garage was open on Saturdays as well. For a change, he decided not to follow Dayspring, opting instead to explore the town on his own. But before 5:00pm, when Logan knew the garage closed, he was already at the diner, sitting in the same booth that Dayspring preferred, waiting for the other man. Sarah was glaring daggers at him again, and he half expected her to tell him that booth was reserved, but she surprisingly said nothing. 

As expected, Dayspring entered the diner around 5:15pm. His eyes landed on Logan sitting in his usual booth, nursing a cup of coffee. Logan could easily read the surprise on the other man’s face, but it was quickly replaced by the smile that Logan had been hoping to see. Dayspring walked over to him, sliding into the seat opposite Logan. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dayspring said. 

Logan shrugged. “It’s a small town,” he replied. 

“That it is,” Dayspring agreed. “Have you ordered?” 

“A coupla minutes ago,” Logan answered, as Sarah seemed to materialize by their table. She didn’t look at all pleased that Dayspring knew him. 

“What’ll it be?” she asked, more testily than what she normally sounded around Dayspring. 

“The usual, please,” Dayspring replied, his eyes never leaving Logan’s face. “Thanks.”

Sarah actually looked affronted at the quick dismissal. Logan almost laughed, but he held it back. She shot him one more poisonous look before leaving their table. Dayspring leaned forward, his expression thoughtful as though he were deciding what to do about the strange man in front of him. Logan waited him out. He knew that he’d crossed the line the night before. There seemed no point in holding back now. The ball was in Dayspring’s court and Logan would play whatever game the other man decided. 

Dayspring decided to start a conversation, treating Logan like a long-lost friend, which was remarkable given that they didn’t know each other at all. Logan wasn’t even sure they’d have anything to talk about, but Dayspring was a smooth conversationalist, whereas Scott had hated conversation. Not that Logan had ever shot the breeze with their Fearless Leader, but Scott didn’t readily open up and he would never have opened up to Logan. No, their talks had always been professional – matters related to the team, to missions, to the school. For all the work they’d done together, he and Summers had never really _talked_.

“That’s your usual?” Logan asked a little incredulously when Sarah placed a large, meltingly delicious-looking bacon cheeseburger in front of the other man. Summers had been such a healthy eater. 

“I indulge on the weekends,” Dayspring confessed, picking up a French fry. “And you're a grits man,” he continued, gesturing to Logan’s plate. 

“Not really,” Logan admitted. “But they make’em pretty good here. Didn’t think I’d find grits in Alaska.” 

“Where are you from?” Dayspring asked. It was the most personal question either of them had posed. 

Normally, Logan would’ve said Canada (hey, it was the truth!), but he’d called Westchester home now for the past three years. He hadn’t called any place home for as long as he could remember. 

“New York.” 

“City?” 

“No, up north. Westchester County.” 

“You’re from upstate New York?” Dayspring sounded a little incredulous. 

“You judging a book by its cover?” Logan challenged. 

Dayspring laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said with that disarming smile. 

“How about you?” Logan went on, shifting the topic to the other man. “You from Sitka?” 

“Born and bred in Alaska,” Dayspring replied. “But my family’s originally from Anchorage.” 

“Never wanted to go anywhere else?” 

“No, not really. Alaska will always be home.” 

Logan felt a twinge of sadness at that. Summers may originally have been from Anchorage too, but the school would always be his home. It was one of the few things they had had in common. Dayspring must’ve picked up on his dampening spirits because he changed the topic again, moving away from the personal stuff. 

“You like cars?” 

That was all the incentive Logan needed to launch into one of his favorite topics – cars and bikes. Both he and Summers had loved their toys and Dayspring was no different. When Logan thought about it now, Summers had been a total speed freak. He’d liked fast cars, fast bikes, fast planes and fast boats. (There had been that mission on the Rivera that still made Logan shudder. Until that point, he hadn’t considered that Scott might like boats too but the high-speed boat chase along the coast soon changed all that. Scott had been able to wield anything that required mechanical skill. Logan sometimes joked that Scott’s mechanical ability was really a secondary mutation.) But speed for Summers had been another means of exercising control. That had been the difference between him and Logan. Logan had pushed and pushed because he'd _wanted_ Summers to lose control. But Scott had withstood Logan’s repeated attempts and had never broken.

The meal ended much too soon for Logan’s liking, but after they’d paid (Logan had picked up the bill. “You can get the next one,” he’d told Dayspring, to which the other man had responded with a smile that suggested there _was_ going to be a next time) and were standing outside the diner about to part ways, Dayspring turned to him and said, “I’m across the street.” 

Just like that Logan had been invited over. Dayspring gave him a tour of the garage, stopping by some of the vehicles that he thought would interest Logan. This was followed by a tour of the upstairs apartment, which was spacious and airy with a nice sun deck. That tour ended in the bedroom with Dayspring pushing him onto the queen-sized bed before straddling him. Compared to the previous night, their actions were much more leisurely. They took the time to strip each other; their kisses were slower and lingered more. Logan made it a point to map Dayspring’s body now that he could see it. If his actions were bordering on worshipful, Dayspring didn’t comment. This time Dayspring was the one who fucked him with slow even strokes, Logan’s legs locked around the other man as Dayspring rocked into him. Logan hadn’t allowed anyone to fuck him in years, but being with Dayspring was different. His body protested at the intrusion, at the discomfort of bending at that angle (he wasn’t as lithe and limber as the other man), but Logan put that discomfort aside. He had chosen this position and the discomfort gave way to pleasure readily enough. He wanted to see Dayspring’s face as they fucked, wanted to kiss him, wanted to know what the other man looked like when he came. Logan learned all those things – things he never would’ve learned from Scott – and when he’d spooned himself around the other man after Dayspring had cleaned them up, he’d thought, before drifting into a peaceful and dreamless sleep, that this was what love-making was.

* * * * *

Logan woke to an empty bed and sunlight streaming into the bedroom. His senses picked up the tinkering on the ground floor and he knew that Dayspring was in the garage. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was a little after 8:00am. This was early by his standards, but Dayspring was an even earlier riser. (Another trait that Dayspring shared with Summers, except that Scott would’ve been training or in the Danger Room.) It didn’t matter that it was a Sunday.

Logan lay in bed for a few minutes longer, trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts. What the hell was he doing? He doubted Ororo would approve of his actions (sleeping with his mark!) but this hadn’t been a standard reconnaissance mission from the beginning. Besides, what moral high ground did Ororo have in this matter? Were his actions hurting the team? Jeopardizing the school? No. What he did in his own personal time (and with whom) was entirely his business, or so he told himself. 

But today was Sunday. According to his own self-imposed timetable, he was supposed to leave Alaska tomorrow. Was he really going to do that? 

“The million dollar question,” Logan muttered to himself as he finally got out of bed. 

He put on his boxers and noticed that there was a robe laid out on the chair near his side of the bed. It was made of red flannel and looked very inviting. Logan accepted the unspoken invitation and put the robe on. There was a pair of slippers at the foot of the chair and he put those on too. 

When Logan wandered out to the kitchen, he could smell the freshly brewed coffee in the coffee pot that Dayspring had kept warm. There was a red mug beside the coffeemaker that Logan knew Dayspring must have put out for him as well. 

Red flannel. Red ceramic. Not to mention the red and gray sweater Dayspring had been wearing at the bar. If red turned out to be Dayspring’s favorite color, he’d really start to wonder. With an amused grin, Logan poured the coffee into the mug. 

Just at that moment, he heard footsteps ascending from the path at the back and then the sliding door of the sun deck opening and closing. A moment later, another person had entered the kitchen. This person stopped short at the sight of him. 

“Sorry,” the stranger said, making no effort to hide his surprise. “Didn’t realize that Slym had a guest.” The stranger recovered quickly though, striding forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Alex,” he said. “Slym’s brother.” 

Logan could see the resemblance. Slym’s younger brother, he surmised.

“Logan,” he answered, shaking the other man’s hand. 

Alex grinned at the laconic response. If he’d been expecting some kind of explanation, he wasn’t going to get it. 

“Have you seen my brother?” 

Logan shook his head. “I expect he’s downstairs working on something,” he replied. 

“That sounds about right,” Alex agreed, walking around the island in the kitchen to rummage in his brother’s refrigerator. He pulled out a box of orange juice and poured himself a glass. “He’s a total workaholic.” 

Logan made a non-committal sound as he drank his coffee. “Maybe it’s ‘cos he likes what he does,” he said a little cryptically, thinking just as much about Summers as he was of Dayspring. 

“Maybe,” Alex agreed, eyeing Logan thoughtfully. 

The brief silence was broken by the appearance of the man in question. 

“Oh, hey,” Alex greeted his brother. “Sorry, I missed you downstairs. Came up the back way.” 

“Not a problem.” Dayspring brushed the apology aside. “You staying for breakfast?” 

“Nah, just wanted to drop by on my way to town,” Alex explained. “We still on for later?” Here he glanced at Logan. “Unless you have other plans?” 

“We’re still on,” Dayspring assured him. “But I might bring a guest,” he added, this time looking at Logan himself. 

“Sure, go ahead,” Alex agreed. “The boat’s plenty big enough for four people.” 

“We’ll meet you at the docks,” Dayspring confirmed. 

“Awesome,” Alex said, before polishing off the rest of his juice. “Got some supplies to pick up. See you both later!” he called behind him and then he was gone.

“My brother’s girlfriend is here for the weekend,” Dayspring explained once they were alone again. “She’s a city girl through and through. Alex is determined to teach her how to fish. There’s always someplace and something to fish in Alaska, even if it’s not the summer season.” 

“I hear the fishing here is pretty incredible,” Logan commented. 

“It is,” Dayspring stated matter-of-factly. “What about you? Are you a fishing kind of guy?” 

“I prefer hunting,” Logan answered honestly. “But I can fish if I have to.” 

“So, is that a yes?” Dayspring prodded. “You’ll join my brother’s fishing trip this afternoon?” 

“You don't even know my name,” Logan pointed out, the irony not escaping him that he’d technically ‘met’ Dayspring’s brother first. 

“Rick,” Dayspring said, and then shrugged. “You look like a Rick.” 

“Logan.” 

“Logan,” the other man repeated. 

Logan actually felt his chest constrict at hearing Dayspring say his name. For one moment, he’d sounded _exactly_ like Scott. Outside of his dreams, Logan had never imagined that he’d hear Scott say his name again.

Dayspring stretched out his hand like his brother had done. “I’m Slym,” he said, making the formal introduction. 

Logan shook the other man’s hand with a firm grip, holding it slightly longer than necessary. He’d been avoiding using the name Slym, even when he thought about the other man. Mentally referring to him as Dayspring had afforded a measure of distance. Slym struck too close to home, but there was no avoiding it now. 

“Good to meet you, Slym,” Logan said, thankful that his voice remained steady. 

“You too, Logan,” Slym answered, before releasing Logan’s hand. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked, heading for the refrigerator. 

“Sunny side up.” 

Logan watched, leaning against the kitchen counter and drinking his coffee, as Slym went about preparing breakfast for both of them. He was startled to realize as the smell of frying bacon reminded him of how hungry he actually was (they hadn’t eaten since their meal at the diner), that he wanted to stay in Alaska. He could imagine waking up beside Slym Dayspring every morning, having breakfast with him, working with him in the garage, having a drink with him at the end of the day, going to bed with him at night. Maybe Sitka was one of Hank’s alternate universes after all, offering Logan a domestic life that would’ve been impossible back in Westchester. While he believed in the X-Men and all the good work they were doing at the school, he would give it up for this – this fleeting chance at happiness. Logan and relationships were a bad combination. Whenever he invested himself in somebody, it would end very badly, usually in literal blood and tears. Maybe he was endangering Slym Dayspring by bringing him into his life. (But wasn’t it the other way around? Wasn’t _he_ being drawn into Dayspring’s life?) But then again, Logan also thought it would be worth it. Even if what they had didn’t last, whatever time they had would be enough. It was already more than what he had with Scott.

* * * * *

Alex had understated things when he’d said that his boat was “plenty big enough for four people.” In reality, it was a professional luxury fishing boat that could hold a group over twice the size.

“Alex sometimes goes out on chartered trips,” Slym explained to Logan, as they cast off from the docks. “Fishing is more of a hobby for him, but he could do it full time if he really wanted.” 

“What does he do the rest of the time?” Logan asked. 

“Pretty much whatever he wants,” Slym laughed. “I’m the responsible one. But Lorna’s been good for him,” he went on, referring to Alex’s girlfriend. She was blond and athletic, and Alex was clearly head over heels in love with her. “I’m hoping some of her focus and studiousness will rub off on him. He’s this close to going to graduate school just so he can spend more time with her.” 

“What’s she studying?” 

“Geophysics.”

Lorna turned out to be a quick study and it wasn’t long before she was effortlessly casting her own lines and reeling in her own catch. Alex had brought them out to the ocean for the halibut. Logan had caught a handful himself before calling it an afternoon, content to sit in the white bench at the back of the boat, drinking a cold beer. At some point, Slym sat beside him, still holding his line as he leaned back into Logan’s outstretched arm and comfortably pressed into Logan’s side. He reached over and plucked the bottle of beer from Logan’s hand, took a drink and then passed it back. 

“How much you wanna bet she catches a trophy fish before the end of the afternoon?” Logan asked him. 

“I’m not making that bet,” Slym said. “It’s a guaranteed loss.” 

Lorna did catch a trophy fish before the afternoon was out. Logan estimated it to be a ten pounder. 

“You can have it weighed and certified,” Alex said. “That’s some achievement, catching a trophy your first time out. Practically unheard of.” 

“The other anglers will be green with envy,” Slym agreed.

“We’d have to freeze it overnight,” Alex went on. “Can’t weigh it at the ADF&G until tomorrow.” 

Lorna shook her head. “I don’t need a certification,” she said. “Catch and release.” 

After a simple photo snapped by Alex with Lorna holding her prize, Lorna tossed the fish back into the water. 

“I’m starved,” she said afterwards. “Halibut for dinner?” 

There was plenty of halibut for dinner, which was held in Alex’s house. They each helped in preparing and gutting the fish, which was served in three different ways. Logan found himself amidst a trio of cooks, with Lorna, Alex and Slym each preparing a dish. He became the designated kitchen runner, performing whatever menial tasks the three cooks required. 

It turned out that part of Alex’s idea of picking up supplies that morning included shopping for dinner and several bottles of sauvignon blanc. 

“Halibut is the chardonnay of the fish family,” Alex declared, opening the first bottle of white wine while they were still preparing the food. 

“My brother, the snob, means that halibut is a meaty fish with a neutral taste,” Slym explained wryly. “It pairs well with sauvignon blanc.” 

Lorna, on the other hand, seemed impressed. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she teased. 

Slym leaned towards Logan who was chopping vegetables and said, “There’s beer back at my place.” 

Beer or sauvignon blanc, it was all the same to him, Logan thought as he dumped the vegetables into the large pot of what would eventually be Slym’s halibut stew. The food was good, the company even better. He felt right at home with Slym’s family. _Too_ at home, reinforcing the illusion that this was a life that he could have. 

When Alex and Lorna became a bit too cozy shortly after dinner, Slym finished the last of his wine and looked at Logan, who nodded in response. It was time to leave. 

“All right, all right,” Slym said, standing up. “We can take a hint.” 

“Slym, you don’t have to go,” Lorna protested, but the smile on her face said otherwise. 

“My brother would disagree,” Slym replied. “Thanks for dinner and the fishing. You,” he said to Lorna, “would give my brother a run for his money.” 

“Nothing new there,” Alex chimed in. He looked from Slym to Logan and then back again, a calculating expression on his face. “You know,” he said slowly. “You guys never told us how you met.” 

Logan momentarily froze. For some reason, he hadn’t anticipated that question, although it was something that probably should’ve come up a lot sooner. 

“The diner,” Slym replied smoothly. 

“Just struck up a conversation?” Alex pressed. 

“Yup.” 

“And then you brought him home?” 

“You know I can’t resist strays,” Slym said teasingly, but affectionately. “Good night, you two,” he added, drawing the Q&A to a close. 

“Good night, Slym,” Lorna added. “Good night, Logan.”

* * * * *

Back at Slym’s apartment, they didn’t bother with the beer but headed straight for the bedroom. Logan couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a weekend packed with so much sex and he hadn’t been drunk through most of it. Of course, Slym Dayspring was breaking all his rules.

After two rounds, with his ass a little sore and his limbs a little heavy, Logan spooned behind the other man, drawing Slym closer against his body. He was growing fond of this position. He was on the verge of drifting off when Slym spoke. 

“You called me another name when you came the second time. Whispered it, really, but I still heard it.” 

Logan was immediately awake. “Did I?” he said, after what felt like a long while. 

“Yeah. You called me Scott.”

Logan felt a heaviness settle in his chest that had nothing to do with languor of post-coital bliss. It was as if time had slowed down and he could feel the seconds ticking away. 

“I don’t suppose that name means anything to you?” Logan asked a little wearily. 

“No,” Slym answered. “Should it?” 

“No.” 

There was another long pause. 

“Who is he?” Slym finally asked. 

The question felt inevitable at that point. 

“Someone I used to know,” Logan answered, somewhat evasively. “You remind me of him,” he added, after a while.

“What happened to him?” 

“He died.” 

Slym chuckled, but it was a melancholic sound. “Well, that’s a first,” he said. 

“What is?” 

“Reminding someone of their dead lover.”

“No,” Logan said before he could stop himself. “Scott and I, we were never –” he broke off, unable to finish the sentence. “I could never have had this with him,” he said quietly when he’d regained his composure. 

“That’s even more tragic,” Slym replied. “I remind you of your dead unrequited love.”

Logan didn’t know what to say to that. It was one hundred percent true. “Should I go?” he asked, after another long silence had passed. 

Slym laughed again, but this time there was warmth and humor behind it. “You’re so melodramatic,” he teased, turning around in Logan’s embrace so that he could look at the other man. “If you couldn’t have this with him, then I’m glad I’m not him.” He leaned forward and kissed Logan. “Go to sleep,” he said, nestling against Logan’s chest. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning and Logan once more woke to an empty bed. Unlike the day before, there was no tinkering coming from the still-closed garage. Instead, Logan could hear the water running in the shower. He glanced at the nightstand clock. A little after 7:00am. Way too early for a Monday morning. Of course, there had been a time when Cyclops would’ve had the team in the Danger Room by 6:30am. Nothing like ripping through a few Sentinels to start the week.

The water in the shower was shut off. Logan could picture Slym drying himself with a towel and then wrapping said towel around his waist. In his mind’s eye, he imagined Slym wearing a pair of ruby quartz glasses, but that was only his imagination confusing Slym with Scott again. When Slym stepped out of the ensuite bathroom, he had a white towel around his waist and his hair was damp. He wasn’t wearing glasses. After two days in the man’s company, Logan could still be jarred by the sight of those eyes. 

“Morning,” he said. 

“It is,” Logan agreed a little grumpily, dragging himself into a sitting position. 

“I take it you’re not a morning person,” Slym said with a smile as he approached the bed. 

“Judging a book by its cover again?” 

“You’re easy to read.”

Logan was caught short by the reply. He smiled ruefully. “To you, maybe,” he said. He wondered if Scott had found him easy to read as well. He’d always found Cyclops hopelessly difficult to read, hyper-senses be damned. 

Slym sat beside him on his side of the bed. Logan moved a little to make room for him. 

“I guess we need to talk.” 

“Never been much good at that,” Logan admitted. 

“Well, I can do the talking and you can nod or shake your head at the appropriate moments,” Slym suggested, his look both challenging and a little playful.

“Sounds doable,” Logan agreed, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the other man. 

“Never asked what you’re actually doing in Sitka,” Slym began. “I assumed you were here for business.” 

“Tying up loose ends,” Logan confirmed. 

“And that job’s almost done?”

 _Ah, a trick question_ , Logan thought. Not that Slym meant it that way. Technically, the job was done. Logan had come to Alaska searching for an answer to his question, and he’d gotten his answer. At the same time, he’d also found something else wholly unexpected.

“The job’s been extended,” he answered. 

“For how long?” 

“Indefinitely.”

Slym’s lips curved into a slow smile at that response and the warmth in his eyes made Logan’s chest tighten. “Well, in that case,” he said. “Why don’t you stay here? Until your business is done?” 

Logan lifted a brow, even as his fingers trailed down the other man’s arm. “You always just open your home to strays?” he questioned. 

Slym laughed, probably remembering the off-handed reply that he’d given his brother the previous night. “First time,” he confessed.

“I’m honored.” 

“You should be,” Slym agreed, standing up. “It’s your turn to make breakfast,” he added. 

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be.” 

“Gotta earn you keep,” Slym threw over his shoulder as he went back inside the bathroom. 

“You’re assuming I can cook,” Logan threw back. 

“Throwing things into a frying pan isn’t rocket science,” Slym said, getting the final word in. 

Logan grinned lazily to himself as he settled back into the bed.

* * * * *

Logan, in fact, could cook. He was no Michelin chef, and hell, he wasn’t about to prepare anything as fancy as what Lorna and Alex (not to mention Slym) had at dinner last night, but he knew the basics. He found the pancake mix in the cupboard and whipped up a batch, serving them with slices of banana and a bit of whipped cream. He also found the breakfast sausages in the freezer and fried a couple of those. He finished off the meal with scrambled eggs. He was just pouring the coffee when Slym entered the kitchen. The other man didn’t even attempt to hide his surprise at the full spread that was waiting for him at the breakfast table.

“You’re even more useful than I thought,” he teased, sitting down at the table.

Logan came over, carrying the two mugs of coffee and placed one of them in front of Slym. He shrugged. “Earning my keep, right?” he said. 

Slym smiled in return, pouring some syrup over his pancakes. “So, what’s your plan for today?” he asked. 

“Need to check out of that motel,” Logan answered, spearing some sausages. “You need any help in the garage?”

If Dayspring was wondering how helping out in the garage was going to work towards tying up Logan’s loose ends, he didn’t mention it. 

“I could always use the extra help,” Slym replied smoothly. “There’s a ’69 Camaro that would appreciate your attention.” 

“I’ll give her a look then,” Logan agreed.

After breakfast, Slym headed downstairs. Logan could already hear a few people milling about in the garage, getting the place ready for opening. He took a quick shower and borrowed some of Slym’s looser clothes (not the jeans or any other pants. Slym’s waistline was true to his name), before heading out. Less than an hour later, he’d checked out of the motel and brought his duffel back to Slym’s apartment. In a moment of bravery, he decided to check in with Hank before starting work on the Camaro.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Hank said, pleased to hear from him. “On your way back soon? The survivalist courses are proving to be more challenging than Kurt expected,” he added, good-humoredly. “But your history classes are just fine.” 

Logan stared out the wide windows of Slym’s bedroom. This was going to be harder than he thought. Already his life at the school seemed so distant to him.

“Logan?” 

“I’m here, Blue.” 

“Everything all right?” 

“Yeah,” Logan sighed, knowing he sounded anything but all right. 

“You met him, didn’t you?” Hank asked after a moment had passed. 

“Did more than meet him,” Logan confessed. 

“I see.”

Logan waited for the censure and disapproval to travel down the line, but it didn’t. Instead, he could feel McCoy’s thoughtfulness, could imagine the furrow in the other man’s brow as he parsed the meaning of Logan’s words. 

“I guess Kurt and I will be covering your classes for a while longer,” Hank eventually said. “Do you have any idea how long?” 

“No.” 

“Logan, if you’re thinking of staying there –” 

“No,” Logan repeated, quickly cutting the other man off. “It’s too soon to be thinking like that.”

“But you _are_ thinking of it,” Hank pressed. 

Logan’s silence was answer enough. 

“How’re things there?” Logan asked to change the topic.

Beast didn’t seem all that pleased by the evasive tactic, but he let it slide. “Quiet,” he answered. “Storm took the team out last week to pick up a young mutant that was getting into trouble with the authorities, but aside from that everything’s been fine.” 

“Quiet is usually code for the calm before the storm,” Logan pointed out. 

Hank managed a small chuckle. “Let’s hope you’re wrong about that,” he said. “The X-Men could use some ‘quiet’ in their lives.” 

“If you run into any trouble,” Logan began. 

“We’ll let you know,” Hank finished for him.

“I’ll _be_ there,” Logan added. 

“I know,” Hank assured him. “Same goes for you, Logan,” he went on. “If you run into any trouble out there…” 

It was Logan’s turn to laugh. “What trouble can I run into in _Alaska_?” he said.

* * * * *

Those would be famous last words, Logan would think later. But for now, he went down to the garage to look at the Camaro that Slym had mentioned. There he found Slym deep in conversation with a large Native American man. Logan’s hackles were raised at the sight of the stranger. Something about the man was off. He was dangerous. Logan’s instincts told him that straight away. As though he could feel Logan’s scrutiny, the Native American man turned to look in Logan’s direction. He had gray eyes that on another person Logan might have described as world weary, but on this man those eyes possessed the steely calm of an assassin.

“Logan!” Slym called, waving him over. “I want you to meet John Greycrow,” he said, introducing his companion when Logan joined them. “John’s my right hand, the foreman of the garage.” 

“Good to meet you,” Greycrow said, extending his hand. 

“You too, bub,” Logan said a bit curtly. Beside him, he could feel Dayspring’s perplexity. Damn. The kid wasn’t kidding when he’d called Logan ‘easy to read.’

“Well, Slym,” Greycrow said, addressing his boss. “I’ll get to it then.” He excused himself, sparing Logan a nod before he went on his way. 

After Greycrow left, Logan had to face an amused Slym Dayspring. “You’re really not subtle,” Slym told him.

“Never claimed to be a subtle man,” Logan replied. Slym had begun to walk and Logan fell into step beside him. The action was so automatic, and so reminiscent of Cyclops and Wolverine that Logan was almost caught short. 

“Why the hostility toward Greycrow?” Slym asked, revealing that he didn’t believe in subtlety either. 

“Dunno,” Logan said honestly. “Gave off the wrong vibe, I guess. Somethin’ about him rubbed me the wrong way.” 

“Just following your instincts?”

“They never lead me astray.” 

Slym stopped walking and turned to look at Logan. “What do your instincts say about me?” he asked. 

“That you’re going to make my life very complicated.” 

Slym’s smile grew wider. “Or I could simplify it,” he offered.

Logan shook his head. Nothing with Summers had ever been simple. Somehow he didn’t think anything with Dayspring would be simple either. “No,” he said slowly. “I really don’t think so.” 

“Glass half full,” Slym said, still smiling as he slipped his hand into Logan’s and continued their walk. 

Logan had to agree with that assessment. _But_ , he reminded himself as he curled his hand around Slym’s, _this would be worth it_.

* * * * *

Logan’s second week in Sitka was spent much like his first week. It was all about developing a routine. The difference was instead of developing that routine from a distance as part of a surveillance mission, he’d become intimately involved with it.

It bothered him that he hadn’t encountered John Greycrow before, especially since Greycrow was someone important to Slym’s business. Greycrow was a striking man, not someone Logan would forget. He proved to be good at his job, handling tools and machines almost a little too easily. He was also a tracker. Logan hadn’t seen this for himself, but it was something he just knew. Maybe it was Greycrow’s heritage. He suspected that Greycrow had been a soldier once. He moved like a military man. That wasn’t the sort of training someone forgot. Slym told him that Greycrow had been out of town, taking care of some personal matters, which explained his absence. Logan did not warm up to Greycrow as the days passed, and Greycrow was also a little on the cool side toward him. But both of them remained professional. They respected Slym enough to do that.

Logan spent his days working in the garage. He and Slym took turns preparing breakfast every morning. They usually had sandwiches for lunch, and more often than not, unwound at the end of the day at the diner. (Sarah had also not warmed up to him, but Logan had learned to ignore her.) Twice they had dinner in town – real date nights that turned out exceedingly well.

They also had a lot of sex. Logan figured that if they ever ran out of things to talk about, this physical component would be the last thing to leave them. Technically, their relationship was based on sex, had started because of an anonymous encounter in the darkened room of a bar, but they had moved way beyond that now.

The following weekend Slym took him flying. Logan took Slym’s love for flying in stride. It was another bizarre characteristic that this doppelganger shared with Summers. Maybe Slym Dayspring was Scott Summers reincarnated. Logan was beginning to believe that was a lot more likely than Hank’s alternate universe theory.

Slym brought him to the same private airfield that Logan had followed him to the week before. He even met the woman whom Slym had taken out on a date. (That date seemed like a lifetime ago.) Her name was Colleen Wing. She was also a pilot and the owner of the airfield. She had a deal with Dayspring that made it easy for him to fly in and out of Sitka the cars of his clients. Logan had also been right about their casual sex relationship. If he had been a tad possessive when Slym had introduced Colleen to him, Logan told himself those were his animal instincts kicking in. The Wolverine was territorial, and he had to mark his territory.

Slym had been amused as they’d boarded his plane, a light and sleek Cessna 162 Skycatcher. “Colleen’s not your competition, you know,” he’d said to Logan, motioning to the headset in the passenger seat, proving once again how easily he could read Logan’s intentions. 

Logan took the hint and put the headset on as Slym started the engine. “No?” he questioned, testing the headset. Slym hadn’t scrimped on the headsets for the Cessna. They were top-end ANR models from Lightspeed. He appreciated the noise reduction immediately and the less ‘clampy’ action around his ears. 

Slym’s voice came across clearly through Logan’s headset when he answered. 

“You don’t have any competition.”

* * * * *

Later that evening as Logan was changing for dinner, he noticed that Monday was blocked off on Slym’s wall calendar.

“What’s happening on Monday?” he asked, when Slym came out of the bathroom. 

The other man groaned. “Doctor’s appointment,” he said. “One of the torturous ones.” 

“Whaddya mean?” Logan said, immediately suspicious.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Slym said, walking to where Logan was standing in front of the full-length mirror. “When we were kids, Alex and I were in a plane crash. Our dad was a pilot, too. Our parents died in that crash. Alex and I survived, but not unscathed. I got the worst of it, though. Brain damage. Nothing debilitating, but I went through a long rehabilitation process. I still go in for regular check ups.” 

“You’re not on any meds?” 

Logan had never seen Slym take any medication. He didn’t think that was something Slym could hide from him now that they were essentially living together. 

“Not anymore.”

Brain damage. Logan’s brow furrowed. Didn’t Hank once tell him something about Scott also having brain damage as a kid? He couldn’t remember how it had happened to Summers, but he did remember that the brain damage was the reason Scott had had to wear the visor. The part of his brain that should’ve controlled his optic beam had been affected. The coincidences were starting to pile up and Logan felt unsettled by this news. Coincidence or not, the fact that Slym had a serious medical condition was worrying enough on its own. 

“Hey,” Slym said, pulling Logan out of his brooding. “You clean up really well,” he said to Logan’s reflection in the mirror. 

“I don’t do this for everyone,” Logan retorted, his thoughts still lingering on Slym’s revelation.

“Must be love,” the other man teased him. 

Logan held Slym’s gaze through the mirror, his expression serious as he said quietly, “It must be.” 

Slym’s smile was warm and his blue eyes even warmer as he reached for Logan’s hand. “I’m craving lamb,” he said, keeping the glow of the moment between them. “How about you?” 

“Lamb sounds good.”

* * * * *

Monday morning dawned, marking Logan’s third week in Sitka. He lay in bed as he listened to the shower running in the bathroom. Slym always rose before him. Since it was also Slym’s turn to make breakfast, Logan wasn’t feeling any pressure to get out of bed.

“What time’s that doctor’s appointment?” he asked with his eyes still shut when Slym got out of the shower. 

“Ten o’clock,” Slym said. 

Logan’s hearing picked up the sound of the other man towel-drying his hair. He felt the bed dip as Slym sat down. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” Slym told him. “These check-ups take hours, pretty much the whole day.” 

Logan opened his eyes at that. “Why so long?” he questioned. 

Slym shrugged. “The tests take a long time to run,” he answered. “They have a lot of machines.” 

“You make it sound like you’re going to see a mad scientist.”

“Nothing like that,” Slym said with a chuckle. “It’s all very modern. Just tedious. And long.” 

“I’ll bring a book,” Logan said, his eyes drifting shut once more.

“Did you buy blueberries yesterday?” Slym asked. He rose from the bed. 

Logan tracked the other man around the room with his hearing. He made a sound of agreement in response to Slym’s question. “And raspberries,” he added. 

“Great,” Slym said. “I’ll make a yoghurt parfait. We still have Greek yoghurt, right?” 

“At least half a tub.” 

“Blueberry pancakes or waffles?” 

“Waffles.”

* * * * *

Slym Dayspring was a big reader and he had a well-stocked library that doubled as a study. It reminded Logan of Xavier’s old office in the school, the office that most certainly would’ve belonged to Scott if he were still alive. Slym’s study was not as large, but it was airier and brighter with a glass wall lining one side, and shelves and shelves of books along the opposite wall. One of the things that both Slym and Logan loved was science fiction. Armed with the classic _Brave New World_ , Logan accompanied his partner (there was no getting around the label) to his dreaded doctor’s appointment.

Logan had expected to go to the Sitka General Hospital, but Slym drove them further out of town into a secluded hilltop area. The area was fenced in but the guards on duty immediately recognized Slym and his vehicle. With a quick salute, they lifted the barboom and allowed Slym to drive inside. Logan scanned the area behind them through his side view mirror. This looked like a lot of security for a medical clinic. 

“Is this some kind of military facility?” he asked, his voice taking on a hard edge.

“Military?” Slym repeated with surprise. “No, it’s a private clinic, but it does double as a research facility.” He parked in the parking area outside a white three-story building. From the outside, it looked like some New Age retreat. 

“This is the Essex Clinic,” Slym explained as they walked up the steps to the glass double doors. “One of them, anyway. It’s supported by the Essex Foundation.”

They entered the clinic. Logan recognized the sterile, antiseptic smell of a medical environment, no matter how much air freshener was filtered through the vents. Years of medical experimentation and being caged like an animal had classically conditioned him to be distrustful of these environments, and with his healing factor it’s not like he needed to go in for regular check-ups.

Inside, the clinic looked as sleek and modern as its exterior. Most of the color scheme was white and gray with wood accents here and there. Behind the circular reception desk was a very pretty young woman with red hair. There was something vaguely familiar about her, Logan thought. Her eyes met his immediately, and unless Logan was mistaken, she seemed to recognize him, too.

“Hi Slym,” she greeted, as they approached her desk. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Rachel, this is Logan,” Slym said, making the introductions. 

“Pleased to meet you, Logan,” Rachel said, her eyes absolutely piercing. 

“You too, Rachel,” Logan replied. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew her somehow. 

“You plan on waiting for Slym?” she inquired. 

“Yup.”

“It’ll be a very long wait.” 

“That’s what I told him,” Slym added. 

Logan nodded. “Came prepared,” he said, holding up his book.

Rachel read the title. “Good choice,” she said approvingly. She turned her attention to Slym. “Dr. Sarkissian is just wrapping up a consultation. She’ll be with you shortly. Why don’t you both take a seat?” 

“Thanks, Rachel,” Slym said.

They settled on the white leather sofa in the reception area. Rachel’s presence had allayed some of Logan’s concerns. There was something about her that he found reassuring. It was the opposite of, say, how John Greycrow made Logan suspicious. 

“Tell me about this place,” Logan said quietly, as Slym picked up a magazine from the coffee table in front of them. “You said it was ‘one’ of the Essex Clinics. How many more are there?” 

“I’m not sure, actually,” Slym admitted. “The Essex Clinics are found throughout the world, but mostly in the United States where the Essex Corporation is based.” 

“Corporation?” Logan repeated. “Thought you said it was a Foundation.”

“The Foundation is the philanthropic arm,” Slym explained. “But the Corporation is the parent company. You’ve never heard of them?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“They’re one of the largest multi-nationals in the world. Right up there with Worthington Industries.” 

Now _that_ was a name Logan was familiar with. So, the Essex Corporation was the competition of Angel’s old man. Interesting.

“How’d you find out about this place?”

Slym leaned back in the sofa, the unopened magazine in his lap. “It’s more like the Essex Foundation found out about me,” he said. “After the plane crash, Alex and I were orphaned. The Foundation took us in. Aside from the clinics, they also run orphanages throughout the country. They paid for all my medical bills, as well as Alex’s. We owe them everything.”

 _It was a sad story with a happy ending_ , Logan thought. There were still good people in the world, people who used their resources and wealth to help others. People like Charles Xavier, and now whoever was behind the Essex Foundation. Logan was glad to hear that Slym hadn’t suffered as a child, that someone had looked after him after his family’s tragedy and even paid for his treatment. Most people weren’t even half that fortunate. Summers hadn’t been. Although Logan didn’t have the details, he’d pieced enough from Storm and Hank’s allusions to know that Scott had had a rough childhood before the Professor had found him. He could still remember what a privileged snot he’d thought Summers had been the first time they’d met at the mansion. Scott Summers, the preppy, idealistic all-American Boy Scout encased in his ivory tower. How wrong Logan had been. 

“Slym.” 

Logan looked up at the unexpected voice, wholly unprepared for what greeted him. 

“Jean?” he said in shock.

There she was. Jean Grey dressed in a white nurse’s uniform, her flowing red hair cut short in a style similar to when Logan had first met her. She gave him an amused smile. “Madelyne,” she corrected, looking to Slym. “But everyone just calls me Maddie.”

Logan barely registered Slym standing up beside him. He knew that he’d stood up as well, but he felt a little queasy, like he was on a violent ship and hadn’t found his sea legs yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel rise from behind her desk. 

“Are you all right?” 

The concern in Slym’s voice drew Logan’s attention to the other man.

“Fine, fine,” he automatically answered, even though he was far from fine. He was about to have a meltdown, standing in front of the mirror images of Cyclops and Phoenix who both didn’t _smell_ like themselves. _Because they’re_ not _Scott and Jean_ , Logan told himself fiercely. _They can’t be. Jean died in your arms._

But this was also too much to be a coincidence. What the fuck was going on?

“Would you like a glass of water?” Rachel said. She’d materialized on his other side without Logan even noticing. Something about her presence and her eyes was willing him to stay calm, as if she understood his sudden turmoil. Logan could feel his heartbeat returning to normal as he focused on her. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Water would be great.” 

Rachel nodded and moved away. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Slym asked again, his hand on Logan’s forearm. He dropped his voice. “For a moment there, I thought you were going to faint.”

At any other time, Logan knew that Slym would’ve turned that statement into a joke and a round of gentle ribbing would’ve followed, but not today. Slym, ever attuned to his changes in mood, understood that this was no laughing matter. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Logan assured, his voice equally low. He could feel Jean – no, Madelyne – watching them carefully. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll wait for you here.” 

Slym looked at him a little doubtfully before finally releasing his arm. “All right,” he agreed, uneasily. 

“Are we ready?” Madelyne asked, her gaze traveling from Logan to Slym. 

“Yes,” Slym answered. “Sorry for keeping you waiting.” 

“Not a problem,” Madelyne said. “This way.”

With one more concerned look at Logan, Slym followed Madelyne down the hallway. 

“Here,” Rachel said, appearing by Logan’s side again and handing him a cold glass of water. 

“Thanks.” Logan took the glass gratefully, practically drinking the contents in one gulp. He passed the glass back to Rachel. 

“Another one?” she offered. 

“No,” Logan said, heading for the door. “I need to make a call.”

Outside the clinic, Logan took a few deep breaths of the crisp air to try and clear his head. His mind was still in a whirl. Remembering the CCTV camera at the entrance of the clinic, Logan walked beyond its coverage and then pulled out his phone. Hank’s number was on his speed dial. Beast answered on the third ring. 

“Is this the weekly check-in?” Hank said good-naturedly. 

“Hank, listen to me,” Logan said urgently. “There’s something fucked up going on here.” 

“What do you mean?” Hank replied, his good humor vanishing.

Hank listened intently as Logan recounted the morning’s events, including the bizarre similarities between Slym’s childhood and Scott’s: both of them being orphans, both of them suffering brain damage at an early age. 

“Something’s not right here,” Logan concluded. “I think Slym might be in danger.” 

“I think _you_ might be in danger,” Hank pointed out. 

“I can take care of myself,” Logan almost snapped. 

“I know,” Hank said to placate him. “But get out of there as quickly as you can,” he advised. 

“I’m not leaving without Slym.” 

Hank sighed. “No, I didn’t expect you to,” he said. “Don’t raise any suspicions,” he went on. “Wait until his tests are done and then leave town.” He paused and Logan heard him murmur the name Essex Corporation. 

“Whaddya know about them?” Logan barked.

There was a short silence followed by another sigh. “I don’t believe the Essex Corporation is as benevolent as they seem,” Hank admitted. “I don’t have any proof of this,” he went on. “But Charles worked with the Foundation before to help mutant children. He had his suspicions then, even though he wouldn’t share them with the team. If he told anybody about his suspicions, it would’ve been Scott. But Essex has some major defense contracts and some of them off-book. Word on the grapevine is that some of the Essex scientists helped design the Weapon X project.” 

Logan had to refrain from crushing his own phone in his anger. “We’re talking mutant experimentation,” he growled.

“Not just that,” Hank said quietly. “Essex Corp. specializes in genetics. They’re the leaders in the field with some of the most advanced research and technology available.” 

“Fuck,” Logan muttered. 

The news was getting grimmer and grimmer. How had everything come crashing down so quickly? 

“Slym mentioned that this clinic doubles as a research facility,” he told Hank. “They can dress it up all they like, but this place stinks of the military. We’re leaving tonight.”

* * * * *

Sitting in the waiting area after his conversation with Hank was torturous. Logan could feel every minute. He tried to concentrate on _Brave New World_ but it was no use. He couldn’t even appreciate the irony that he’d brought with him a visionary book on a futuristic genetically engineered society, when there could be genetic testing going on in the very building that he was in. He still couldn’t wrap his head around this newfound knowledge or what to make of Slym and Madelyne. Were they freaking clones of Scott and Jean? There was a time when cloning would’ve been in the realm of science fiction, but that time had long passed.

“Don’t y’all break for lunch?” Logan asked Rachel at one point. The wall clock behind her read 12:30pm. 

“Yes,” she said. “But Slym and Dr. Sarkissian usually have lunch together in her office.” 

“Don’t suppose there’s some place I could eat lunch?” 

“We have a small cafeteria, but it’s for staff only.” Rachel looked apologetic. “I could make you coffee,” she offered. “Or you can go out, grab something to eat and come back. Slym will still be a few hours.”

Normally, Logan would’ve done just that but there was no way he was leaving Slym in this place. 

“I’ll take you up on that coffee,” he told Rachel. 

So, Rachel served him coffee and a packet of cranberry biscuits (“From the vending machine in the cafeteria,” she’d explained.) and Logan continued to wait. 

It was past 4:30pm when Slym emerged from the hallway, this time accompanied by a statuesque blond woman wearing a white lab coat. Dr. Sarkissian, Logan surmised.

“You must be Logan,” she said, smiling at him. 

Logan didn’t return the smile. In his third bout of déjà vu of the day, there was something familiar about this woman too. But unlike Rachel, Madelyne and even Slym, it was her _scent_ that was familiar even if neither her face nor her name jogged his memory. Logan was certain that he’d met her before, maybe in one of his past lives. She was a sense memory. 

“I’m Dr. Ophelia Sarkissian,” she continued. 

“So I gathered,” Logan said, staring her down. 

Sarkissian remained unfazed. “Well, we’re all done here,” she said, turning to face Slym. “Same time next month?” 

“Unfortunately,” Slym replied, but he was smiling. “Ready to get out of here?” he asked Logan. 

“You have no idea,” Logan muttered.

Once outside the clinic, Logan could no longer contain himself. In the small parking lot before they reached Slym’s car, he grabbed hold of the other man’s arm. 

“Listen,” he said, pulling Slym close so they couldn’t be overheard. It didn’t matter that there was no one else around. “I know we just met and you have no reason to trust me –” 

“I do,” Slym interrupted. “Trust you.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it,” he admitted. “But since that night at the club, I’ve trusted you.”

Logan felt an immense weight lift off his shoulders, a burden he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying. There _was_ something between them. It wasn’t just all in his head or some twisted desire on his part to project his feelings onto the other man. The connection they shared was real.

“Slym,” Logan said urgently. “We need to get out of here, out of Sitka. Something’s off about this place. I think you could be in danger.” 

“Your instincts told you that,” Slym said, completely serious. 

“Yeah,” Logan breathed. He wished he’d told Slym the truth about himself; that he was a mutant; that his instincts went beyond a gut feeling that people could joke about. But now wasn’t the time.

Slym was nodding. “All right,” he agreed. “The fastest way out of Sitka is to fly.” 

“Don't suppose that plane of yours is ready to go?” 

“Colleen keeps the Cessna on standby,” Slym answered. “We can go straight to the airfield from here.”

* * * * *

Logan remained vigilant on the drive to the airfield. He’d switched into combat mode and all his senses were heightened. Behind the wheel, Slym exhibited the same kind of calm that Logan remembered Cyclops had possessed from all their missions together. He was coming to grips with the idea that Slym Dayspring was Scott Summers’ clone. After meeting Madelyne, it was the only explanation that made sense and it pretty much explained everything, down to the scent change. The more he thought about it, the more OK he was with the idea too. What they had worked because it was a clean slate, something he could never have had with Summers. They still had a lot to sort through, but first, they needed to get the hell out of Sitka.

The light was falling by the time they arrived at the airfield. The guard on duty was surprised to see them, but he opened the gate and let them in. Slym parked and pointed to the well-lit hangar. 

“The Cessna’s inside,” he said. “I’ll meet you there. I’ve got to talk to Colleen first.” 

“Don’t take long,” Logan told him before they parted ways.

He headed for the hangar, whose doors were wide open. It didn’t take long to locate Slym’s Cessna among the other light aircraft. The minutes ticked away and Logan began to grow impatient. This was taking too long. He’d decided to go to Colleen’s office when a voice stopped him. 

“Logan.” 

He whirled around. Dr. Sarkissian was there. How the hell had she snuck up on him? He could see two of the security guards from the clinic coming up behind her. They were armed with automatic weapons. The claws came out. The guards weren’t fucking around and neither was he.

Sarkissian only smiled when she saw the blades. She continued to walk toward him, even as Logan crouched in a fighting stance. 

“Stay the fuck back, lady,” he warned her. 

“You know, I’m a little wounded,” she told him, amusement in her voice. “That you didn’t recognize me back at the clinic. There was a time when you and I were close, when you owed me your life.” She stopped a few feet away from him, far enough that Logan would have to lunge to attack her. She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “But I guess after Weapon X scrambled your brain, even someone like me could get lost.” 

“I don’t know who the hell you _are_.” 

“You never were very bright,” she said dryly.

Then, in a movement so swift that Logan had no time to react, she flicked her tongue out, a superhuman prehensile thing that reminded him of Toad. She stabbed him in the neck. Logan felt the sharp prick of his skin being pierced and then a powerful toxin overpowering his body. He dropped to his knees. His eyes landed on the strikingly green high heels the doctor was wearing. When he looked up again, his vision already hazy, she was towering over him. 

“You can call me Viper.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Big Bad finally makes an appearance in this chapter. For those of you who are interested, I'm using Kieron Gillen's interpretation of the character during his Uncanny X-Men run (the Regenesis arc) because I found it refreshing.
> 
> Also, although I ship Cyclops/Wolverine, I do my best not to demonize Jean. Remember, Madelyne is _not_ Jean. The Madelyne of this fic is much closer to the Goblin Queen (without the madness!) than she is to Scott's wife. 
> 
> On with the fic!

“Logan.” 

“Logan.” 

“Wolverine!” 

Logan’s eyes snapped open. His body ached. He saw the bars in front of him and knew that he’d been placed in a cell. He was on his knees, hanging at a forty-five degree angle with his arms shackled behind him. He unleashed his claws but the chains wrapped around his torso immobilized him. He couldn’t reach behind him to slash the chains. 

“That won’t do you any good,” a voice said. “The chains are made of adamantium, as is the cell.” 

Logan looked up. 

“Rachel,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

She crouched in front of him so that they were eye level. “I wish you hadn’t gone to the clinic with Scott,” she told him. “I would’ve found some other way to contact you and maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. You’ve been under surveillance since you got to Sitka. But it’s too late for that now.” 

Nothing Rachel said made any sense to Logan, but he zeroed in on the most important detail. _Scott._

“Scott?” he repeated. “Slym’s not –” 

“ _He is_ ,” Rachel cut him off, forcefully. “He’s the only reason I’m here, the only reason they’ve kept me around.”

“And who are you?” 

“I’m his daughter.” 

Logan nearly laughed at the absurdity of the claim. Of all the possible things Rachel could’ve said, that one was the most unbelievable. (Cloning, at this point, was more realistic to him.) Mathematically, it wasn’t even possible. Summers hadn’t even been thirty when he’d died. Unless he’d gotten Rachel’s mother pregnant when he was ten… 

Nope. It just wasn’t possible. 

“I don’t have any time to explain,” Rachel went on.

Logan wasn’t going to argue with her. She was probably crazy, but she also looked like she wanted to help him and he needed all the help he could get. 

“How do you know that Slym is Scott?” he pressed. “His scent is all wrong.” 

“My guess is because Sinister is suppressing his power.” 

“Sinister?” 

“Dr. Nathaniel Essex,” Rachel answered. “You’ll meet him soon enough.” 

“And Scott’s memories?” Logan asked. “He doesn’t know me.”

“That’s Sinister’s doing too. He’s put in mental blocks to prevent Scott from remembering his time with the X-Men and created a false history for him,” Rachel explained. “But he’s also drawn real events from Scott’s past to make it easier for him to accept the altered memories.” 

“So, this Sinister’s a telepath?” 

“Among other things.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means he’s one of the most powerful mutants you’ll ever encounter,” Rachel said. “There’s very little he _can’t_ do.” She shook her head. “I'm not strong enough to take him on my own. Or Madelyne,” she added. “Madelyne’s the one who’s been maintaining Scott’s mental blocks, while Sarkissian continues to suppress his power and god knows what else. That’s why Scott has the monthly check-ups.”

“Back up,” Logan instructed. “Who is Madelyne? Why does she look like Jean?” 

“She’s Jean’s clone.” 

Ah, so Logan’s cloning theory had been partially correct. 

“I know who you are, Wolverine,” Rachel said, catching Logan’s attention. “Working together, we’d have a chance to get out of here. I’m confident I can remove Scott’s mental blocks. I just need some time with him. They don’t trust me 100%. They won’t let me get too close to him.” 

“You’re a telepath too?” 

“I inherited my mother’s gifts.”

Suddenly, Logan put it together. That’s why Rachel had seemed familiar to him when they’d first met. He still didn’t understand how it was possible, but she _was_ Jean and Scott’s daughter. She possessed her parents’ beauty, their intelligence, and their strength. 

“You believe me now,” she said with a half-smile. 

“Stop reading my mind,” he shot back. “It was you,” Logan said after a moment. “At the clinic, when Madelyne first appeared. You were the one who calmed me down, got me to focus.” 

Rachel shrugged. “It was a psionic suggestion,” she said. “Couldn’t have you freaking out in the middle of the reception area. It didn’t matter though. Viper was on to you as soon as you both left the clinic.” Rachel paused. “I almost forgot,” she added. “There’s Scalphunter too.”

“Scalphunter?” 

“John Greycrow.” 

“Figures he’d be a mutant,” Logan muttered. “What’s Greycrow do?” 

“He’s an assassin mostly.” 

Yep, that sounded about right to Logan. 

“We need to get to Scott,” Rachel went on. “To have any chance of getting out of this, we need Cyclops to be Cyclops.” 

“Heads up, Red,” Logan said in a low voice, his hearing picking up the sharp click of high-heeled footsteps. “Someone’s coming.”

Rachel straightened up and stepped away from Logan’s cage. He watched as she schooled her features into a mask of bland indifference, and then he lowered his head. 

“Keeping our guest company?” Madelyne asked several minutes later, as she came up beside Rachel. She’d changed out of the nurse’s uniform into something that would’ve looked right at home in an S&M club thanks to the tight black leather and PVC. 

“All yer missin’ is the whip,” Logan told her, craning his neck so that he could look up at her.

Madelyne laughed, but it was a cruel sound with none of Jean’s warmth. “I wasn’t expecting a sense of humor from the Wolverine,” she said mockingly. “And who says I don’t have a whip?” she challenged. 

Logan’s own smile was bitter and caustic. “Spend some time with me, lady,” he replied. “And you’ll learn that I’m a funny guy.” 

Madelyne bent down, reaching through the bars with one gloved hand to run two fingers down the side of Logan’s face, stopping at his chin. She jerked his head up at a painful angle. “Unlike my counterpart or Cyclops apparently,” she whispered. “I have higher standards.” She released him and straightened up once more, taking a key out of her pocket and handing it to Rachel. 

“Take him to the citadel,” she ordered. “Nathaniel is waiting for him.” 

Rachel took the key from Madelyne before giving Logan an apologetic look. “Sorry, Wolverine,” she said. 

Logan felt a sharp pain in his head and then he blacked out.

* * * * *

When Logan came to again, his wrists were still manacled but the chains around his body had been removed. He was also standing up. His first instinct was to break the cuffs, but he soon discovered that he was paralyzed.

“There are two powerful telepaths in this room,” a silky, all-too-familiar voice whispered in his ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Madelyne stepped into his field of vision. Logan let out a low growl as she moved past him. He followed her with his eyes, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Presumably, he was in the room that Madelyne had called the citadel, although it didn’t bear much resemblance to the strongholds or fortresses of old. It did appear to be a control center of sorts, however, and Logan’s mind flashed to the now-unused Cerebro in the sub-levels of the school. The X-Men no longer had a resident telepath powerful and skilled enough to wield the machine. 

“Ah, Cerebro,” a new voice said. “An impressive piece of technology, indeed.” 

Logan mentally cursed himself. Two powerful telepaths, Madelyne had said. He needed to be more careful. The Professor and Jean had respected mental privacy. Other telepaths did not necessarily feel the same way.

“Slip ups are understandable,” the voice went on. 

British accent. Cultured. Snooty. 

Logan both felt and heard a mental chuckle in his mind. “Stay out of my head!” he snarled. The presence receded, slipping out as effortlessly as it had slipped in.

“It is surprising,” the voice said. “That someone who has lived as long as you have doesn’t have better mental shields. Though I suppose teaching you how to shield after the horrors of Weapon X would be an arduous task for any telepath.” The voice paused. “Scott has formidable mental shields, especially for one who is essentially psi null. Xavier trained him very well, as did Jean. Of course, he and Jean shared a telepathic bond since they were quite young. That’s one of the reasons he took her death so hard, not just because she was his first love – probably the love of his life – but also because of the void she left behind. The silence in his mind, the emptiness that he could not fill. She completed him in a way that you’ll never be able to. That never occurred to you. Did it, Wolverine?”

Logan was chilled by the stranger’s words because they were true. He had never really contemplated nor understood the depth of the bond that Scott had shared with Jean, how at ease the other man was with telepathy. After all the mind fuckery he’d been through, he was distrustful of telepaths with Xavier and Jean being the only exceptions. 

The voice had been speaking from an elevated dais behind a cocoon of holographic screens, which blocked Logan’s view of the stranger. Now the screens parted to reveal an exceedingly pale man sitting cross-legged on what could only be described as an ornate gold throne, dressed in a dapper steel gray suit complete with a red cummerbund. In his left hand, he held an elegant black cane with a large red jewel at the top. But the most striking feature about this man was not his pale skin or his finely tailored clothes, but what appeared to be a red jewel shaped like a diamond in the middle of his forehead, together with his piercing red eyes. 

He looked like a man out of time.

“Where are my manners?” the man said carelessly, once Logan had a clear view of him. “I’m Dr. Nathaniel Essex,” he said with an ostentatious flourish of his right hand. “But you may call me Mr. Sinister, if you prefer.” He smiled at Logan, but just like Madelyne’s laugh, the smile was cruel. Speaking of Madelyne, Jean’s evil clone was now standing beside Essex, her right hand resting on the back of Essex’s throne. 

“Where’s Scott?” Logan asked angrily. 

“Finally figured out that you’ve been sleeping with the real deal, hmm?” 

Sinister’s amusement made Logan’s blood boil.

“Don’t worry about Scott,” Sinister assured him. “He’s perfectly fine. You should know by now that I would _never_ harm him. Scott is _precious_ to me. This,” Sinister gestured to the space around him, but Logan suspected that he was referring to much more than the room, more than the building even. “I created all this for him.”

“An elaborate cage is still a cage,” Logan spat. He had no doubt now that Sinister had been monitoring every aspect of Scott’s life, had in fact, _created_ the entire history of Slym Dayspring to suit his purposes. 

Sinister leaned forward. “And you would have plenty of experience with cages, Wolverine,” he agreed. “The difference between your cages and Scott’s – aside from the fact that I created a very comfortable one for him – is that he wasn’t aware that he was in a cage. If you hadn’t come here, he would’ve been perfectly content to go on living his life – working at the garage, eating at the diner, occasionally fucking men on Friday nights. You could argue that it was a better life than the one he had with the X-Men. What is the point of fighting for those who continue to hate and fear you? Nothing you do – no matter how many sacrifices you make – will change their minds. Humans are an ungrateful, inferior species whose time will eventually run out.” 

“If given a choice, Scott would never abandon the Professor’s dream,” Logan shot back. “ _Never_.” 

Sinister looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but the action was too far beneath him. Instead, he dismissed Logan’s declaration with a wave of his hand.

“Which is why I made that decision for him,” he sniffed. “Come now, Logan,” he cajoled. “Scott was happy. Surely, you saw that for yourself when you arrived. That’s why you couldn’t resist him. You wanted a taste of that happiness. And frankly, Wolverine, I would’ve let you have it. If only you hadn’t been so over-protective, so _devoted_ and let Scott come to his monthly check-up on his own, you wouldn’t be in the mess that you’re in now.” He shook his head. “Such a shame. Of course, you could’ve posed a problem later on. Sarah thought you were trouble the first time you walked into that diner, and Greycrow never trusted you, but I genuinely believe that you would’ve accepted Scott’s new life and that you would’ve been content to live it with him. You could’ve had that fairytale romance for a while longer, Wolverine. If only you’d played your cards right.” Sinister sighed theatrically, making a tsking sound as he did so. “Such a shame,” he repeated. 

“I ain’t much of a gambler,” Logan said. 

“No?” Sinister arched an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t play it safe, either.” 

Logan recognized his own words being said back to him. How did Sinister know? Was there surveillance at the club, in that tiny room? More likely Sinister had pulled those words directly from Scott’s memories. Every month, he or Madelyne had full access to Scott’s memories. That’s what those check-ups were for, among other things. They were a way to control Scott and keep him in line. 

“Whaddya want with Scott?” Logan asked.

Logan knew he’d hit the jackpot when Sinister’s eyes glittered. That was the thing with megalomaniacal super-villains. They loved hearing the sound of their own voices, loved talking about their accomplishments and self-importance. For all his airs, Sinister was no different. 

“I’m a geneticist, Wolverine,” Sinister said with unmistakable pride. “One of the greatest scientific minds of my generation – of _any_ generation. During my time, only Darwin could rival me.” His voice grew hard. “But Darwin was a coward, straitjacketed by conscience and morality. He never truly pushed the boundaries of science as far as they could go.” 

“And you did?” 

“Of course!” Sinister exclaimed, standing up in his fervor. “The boundaries of science are limitless!” He stretched his arms wide. “Finally, we are in an age where the advances in technology can keep abreast with my theories and research.” 

Logan plastered a look of disinterest on his face. “Still don’t explain what you’re doin’ with Summers,” he said off-handedly.

“Ah, Scott Summers,” Sinister repeated, sounding disturbingly satisfied. He lowered his arms from their outstretched position, resting his hands on top of his cane as he looked down at Logan imperiously. “I admit that I am somewhat obsessed with the Summers bloodline,” he said, which Logan took to be a gross understatement. “Of which Scott is the finest specimen,” he added. “My interest in Scott is his pureblood genetics, and his own similarities to me. I once believed that he possessed something, an elusive quality that I did not. I wanted to learn what that quality was.” 

“Humanity?” Logan suggested. 

The answer got a long laugh from Sinister, although that hadn’t been Logan’s intention. “He once told me the very same thing!” Sinister revealed, still amused. “I have studied your kind for generations, from nature’s first failed experiments in the Victorian Age.”

“My kind?” Logan repeated. 

“Mutants.” 

“Yer sayin’ you’re not a mutant?” 

“Not by birth,” Sinister admitted. “But I’ve come a long way since then. I _predicted_ the great mutation, and I was right!” 

“Victorian Age, huh?” Logan repeated. “Looking spritely for a hundred and fifty year old man.” 

Sinister inclined his head in acknowledgement. “As are you, Wolverine,” he returned. He reached out a hand to Madelyne, who slipped her gloved hand into his pale one. “And look at the fruit of my labor,” he said, walking Madelyne forward so that she could parade in front of Logan. “A perfect clone. Her powers took longer to manifest than I expected, but our lovely Madelyne grows stronger every day.” 

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Logan mocked. “Jean couldn’t handle all that power. It destroyed her.” 

“I’m not Jean!” Madelyne lashed out. 

Logan felt several of the vertebrae in his lower back snap. He grimaced with pain, but his body was already stitching itself back together. 

“Temper, temper,” Sinister chastised. 

Madelyne looked at her creator, eyes downcast in submission. 

“This isn’t the first time I tried to capture you,” Sinister continued. “I first heard of the wild, clawed man roaming the woods of Canada in the early twentieth-century. I sent some of my Marauders to retrieve you, but alas you killed them and escaped.” Sinister sat back down on his ornate throne. “What should I do with you now?” he mused. 

“I hope you don’t talk him to death,” a new voice remarked dryly. 

Logan recognized the clinical, slightly antiseptic scent of the mutant known as Viper. She reminded him of a toxin. Clean, almost odorless, but deadly.

Viper approached from an entrance on the left. _It must be tight spandex and PVC day_ , Logan thought. But instead of the black dominatrix look sported by Madelyne, Viper’s outfit was a brilliant green, the same green as the high heels that Logan had noticed at the airfield. 

“I gotta say,” Logan smirked. “Y’all wear colorful costumes here.” 

“One of the perks of being a villain,” Viper sniped with a smile, as she passed by him. She climbed up the dais until she was standing on Sinister’s right. “Have you decided what to do with him?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “You could always turn him over to me. A life debt is a life debt.”

“I thought you already established that he doesn’t remember Madripoor, my dear,” Sinister inquired. 

Viper placed a hand on his chest. “I have other ways to control him,” she replied. She dropped her hand, turning to face Logan. “Or we could always turn him over to Weapon X,” she suggested. “They would be very grateful to have him back.” 

Logan’s growl at hearing the name Weapon X was completely involuntary. He’d thought, naively perhaps, that Weapon X had been shut down. He should’ve known that programs like that would always find funding, whether through legal channels or not. 

“Or we could just keep him,” Sinister said, in a voice that implied he’d decided to do just that. “A clone of the great Wolverine with certain behavioral adjustments,” he mused. “That would be very useful, indeed.”

Logan was used to being talked about like a lab rat. It didn’t faze him. “Where’s Scott?” he demanded. “I want to see him.” 

Madelyne sighed, clearly annoyed. “This one is just as obsessed with Cyclops as you are,” she told Sinister. 

Sinister patted her arm as though he were consoling a pet. “Why not grant him this last wish?” he said in a moment of magnanimity. “A tragic ending to his fairytale romance? It will get him through the arduous days ahead.”

* * * * *

Logan woke up for the third time in he wasn’t sure how many hours. But instead of kneeling and being immobilized or standing and being immobilized, he was lying down without any restraints. The claws came out immediately.

“Hey, easy.” 

“Scott?”

Logan looked in the direction of the voice. Summers was sitting beside him on the narrow bed. _A bunk bed_ , Logan realized, as he registered the second metal bunk above him. They were in another cell. Summers was still wearing the same clothes as he’d been during the doctor’s appointment, which meant that not a lot of time had passed. He also had on a hideous metal helmet, and the red visor that covered his eyes was undoubtedly made of ruby quartz. But this was definitely Summers. He _smelled_ like Scott. What had Rachel said? She’d believed that suppressing Scott’s power had altered his scent, which meant that his power wasn’t being suppressed now. At least, not by the same means as before. One look at the helmet and the visor told Logan that Cyclops wasn’t going to be blasting them out of captivity.

“They know I can just rip that off you, right?” Logan said, referring to the helmet. 

“Better not,” Scott replied. “It’s been rigged. Tampering with it will take my head off.” 

The claws retracted. There was a slightly awkward silence. 

“You know who I am?” Logan asked eventually. He quickly recognized the foolishness of the question, and could imagine Summers lifting an amused brow behind the impenetrable ruby quartz. “I mean, you _remember_?” he clarified. 

“I know who you are, Logan.”

There was something utterly comforting in the matter-of-fact way that sentence had been said. Scott not only sounded like Scott, but Logan recognized the distinct change in temperament. Scott was in Cyclops mode. It reminded Logan of something else Rachel had said, _We need Cyclops to be Cyclops_. 

“Ya know what’s going on?” 

“I’ve been piecing it together.” 

“That Sinister is a piece of work.” 

The helmet didn’t cover Scott’s entire face with the visor stopping along the bridge of his nose. He gave Logan a wry smile. “Sinister and I have a long history,” he said. 

“So he implied.”

“A lot of what I told you is true,” Scott went on, startling Logan somewhat. For some reason, he’d thought that Scott would avoid bringing up their “relationship” and focus solely on the task at hand – formulating an escape plan. 

“When we were children, Alex and I really were in a plane crash that killed our parents.” 

“Hang on. Are you saying that Alex is really your brother?” 

“Yes. His power is similar to mine, only he didn’t lose control of it because of the plane crash,” Scott explained. “The brain damage I told you about is also true.”

“As was the orphanage?” 

“Yes,” Scott confirmed. “The Essex Foundation really did take us in and paid for our medical expenses. But we were separated, lead to believe that the other had died in the crash. Alex was quickly placed with a foster family, but Sinister kept me at the orphanage so he could study and observe me.” He sighed. “Sinister was the one who designed the ruby quartz glasses when my power first manifested.” 

“Yer kidding,” Logan said in disbelief. “I always thought that was the Professor’s doing.” 

Scott shook his head. “The Professor didn’t find me until much later,” he said. “He saved me from Sinister and Jack O’Diamonds, a mutant criminal I eventually fell in with when I ran away from the orphanage. Of course, it turned out that Jack O’Diamonds worked for Sinister too.” 

Logan was finally getting the answers he’d been looking for, but he still had so many questions. For one thing, how had Scott wound up in Alaska? 

“Scott,” he said, after a short time had passed. “Do you remember what happened with Jean?”

The other man sighed, his lips turning downward in a slight frown. Logan was about to take it back. They didn’t have to talk about this now, but Scott beat him to it. 

“I remember Alkali Lake,” he said almost clinically, as though he were detaching himself from the situation. “I remember being so overwhelmed with grief that day. I took off my glasses and fired an optic beam – full blast – into the lake. I didn’t know she was at the bottom of that lake, cocooned by her own power. My blast woke her. She rose out of that lake and came to me like something out of Arthurian legend. I couldn’t believe it was her. She took off my glasses, and told me not to be afraid. She could control my power and she did. Then she kissed me.” 

Scott stopped suddenly. Logan was transfixed. He was half-sitting up now, putting his weight on his left arm as he’d listened to Scott’s story.

“I could feel myself being ripped apart by that kiss, could feel my life draining away. I tried to pull away from her, but it was no use. She was so strong. Then there was nothing. When I woke up again, I was in Alaska. Anchorage. In my family’s old home, in fact, but I didn’t know that. I had no memory and I was depowered. The people who found me in the backyard were kind. They brought me to the hospital. There I met Madelyne, and I think you can guess how the rest of the story goes.” 

Yeah, Logan had a damn good idea of how the rest of the story went. “Did you recognize her?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

“No,” Scott answered. “But I was drawn to her,” he added. 

“Could’ve been a psionic suggestion.” 

“Could’ve been,” Scott agreed. He gave Logan a sideways look. “But I was drawn to you too.”

Logan could feel his face growing warm. He had never been more thankful for Scott’s ruby quartz visor. There was no way Cyclops could tell that he’d just made Wolverine _blush_. Logan cleared his throat. He wanted to reach out and touch the other man, but he wasn’t sure if the touch would be welcome. Hell, he didn’t know what was appropriate between them anymore. Scott, however, had no such qualms, and he leaned back into Logan, allowing Logan to support his weight. Logan was struck by how familiar the action was to him, how he’d become used to lounging in Slym’s – no, _Scott’s_ – bed with the other man draped over him in some way and vice versa. He did reach out, running his hand down Scott’s arm until it was nestled in the other man’s hand. He felt Scott’s fingers curl around his own in a gentle grip.

“We’ll talk about this when we get back to the school,” Scott said, so softly that anyone else would’ve strained to hear the words. 

Logan felt a surge of hope go through him. It was a positive sign. Summers was not only a master strategist, he was a master when it came to evasive action too. Some part of him had expected that reaction from the other man, that Scott would simply ignore the past two weeks they’d shared. Avoidance, evasion and denial. They were all patent Summers’ traits. But it would appear that wasn’t going to happen this time. But first, there was the pressing problem of escape.

“Any ideas on how we’re gonna get out of here?” Logan asked, shifting their conversation onto more professional concerns. 

“A few,” Scott replied. “But we’re going to need Rachel’s help.” 

“She told me a pretty crazy story.” 

“That she was my daughter?” 

“She is, ain’t she?” 

“She’s my time-traveling daughter from an alternate timeline. Satisfied?” 

“No, but she seems sincere.” 

“She is.”

“I’m surprised you remember all this,” Logan admitted. “What happened to the mental blocks suppressing your memories?” 

“I was…difficult…at the airfield when Dr. Sarkissian – Viper – tried to bring me back to the clinic.” Scott shrugged. “I guess Sinister thought it would be easier to start with a clean mental slate.” 

“Ya mean erase me from your memories,” Logan translated.

“Something like that,” Scott agreed. He looked at Logan and Logan could feel the thoughtfulness behind the gaze, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m beginning to understand that I’ll recognize you anywhere,” he said. “With or without my memories. That inexplicable trust I told you about? It’s not inexplicable at all. I trusted you because I know you. I’ll _always_ know you, no matter what they do to me.” 

Logan felt a suspicious lump in his throat. That was the most goddamned romantic thing Summers had ever said to him as Slym Dayspring or not, and he couldn’t even reciprocate. His tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth. This wasn’t like the deep-seated telepathic bond that Scott had shared with Jean, but it was still _something_. Logan just couldn’t articulate what. And because he’d never been very good with words, he let his actions speak for him instead, leaning forward even as he pulled the other man towards him. He felt Scott’s hand on his neck and when their lips met it was like their first kiss all over again. Except it wasn’t because they knew each other’s taste, knew each other’s bodies, knew how to turn the other person on. Yet knowing this was Scott – _actually, Scott_ – made all the difference in the world.

“Yeah, so, getting out of here,” Scott said, trying to get their conversation back on track once the kiss ended. 

Logan was pleased to note that he’d flustered the unflappable Cyclops. 

“We need Rachel’s help, and we also need to get Alex and Lorna out of here too.” 

“Lorna?” Logan repeated. “You mean she’s also a mutant?” 

“She’s not just any mutant,” Scott replied. “She’s Magneto’s daughter.”


End file.
